


Stormseeker: The Boy Who Died

by Serriya (Keolah)



Series: Stormseeker Saga: Alternate Timelines [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Drama, Gen, Humor, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:32:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keolah/pseuds/Serriya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexen Chelseer, the interdimensional time traveler, goes to Hogwarts, impersonates Harry Potter, and dies repeatedly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Electric Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second version of the story that eventually became [Borrowed Destiny](http://archiveofourown.org/works/502259), and the first in which the element of Lexen as Harry was introduced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the second version of the prologue for the Stormseeker Saga.

A man in black robes stands silhouetted by the Nexus. The glowing, rune-covered obelisks behind him frame his body and give him an ominous, back-lit look. But he doesn't need help to look ominous. The way he looks at me is enough. Cruel eyes and a cruel grin. I'm frozen in terror.

"So, you're the latest Chelseer brat, aren't you? Black hair, unnaturally green eyes... You don't have the ears, though. Have they been breeding with humans lately?"

I've never seen this man before, but I know who he is. His name is Sedder. My mother told me about him. Warned me about him. And now he's standing here before me, and I'm all alone.

"You're not supposed to be here, Sedder!" I yell. "You were exiled! They told me you were exiled!"

"And now I'm back."

He grins wickedly at me, and I suppress a shudder. I'm just a kid, not even eleven years old. I'm just starting to learn about magic. There's nothing I can do to defend myself against him. Where's my mother at a time like this? She'd show him!

"What do you want, Sedder?"

"I want revenge upon those who humiliated me and exiled me. I want to destroy your entire family. And you're as good a place as any to start with, little brat.

I panic, and regaining control of my legs again, I turn to run. But I don't get more than two steps. Strange darkness surrounds me, wispy tendrils that look like nothing more than shadow, but they grip my limbs solidly and bring me to my knees.

I can't move. I try to fight it, struggling, squirming, but it's no use. I feel myself weakening. Terrible agony as my strength drains from me. Screaming in pain. I can't breathe. Blackness burrows into my body and leeches out my very life force.

 _Don't let it end like this!_ I don't want to die like this! I refuse to die like this. A helpless child, a victim to be mourned. There must be more to my life than this!

My vision is fading rapidly to black. I can't feel my body anymore. But I'm still fighting with all my will. I won't die like this. I won't...

And then a strange sensation, like lightning, rips through my body suddenly. But it's a _good_ feeling. A feeling of _life._

And when I open my eyes, I'm standing again, in a different spot than before. I'm facing the Nexus of Torn Elkandu, eight obelisks in a circle against the swirling purple sky. Behind me stands the roughly circular stone portal leading back to the world of Lezaria.

Sedder is nowhere in sight. It looks like just another ordinary day in Torn Elkandu, the heart of the universe. What just happened here? I couldn't have been hallucinating. It was all so very real...

"Hi there, Lexen!"

A dark-skinned elven child just popped into existence beside me. He's younger than me, perhaps six years old, but his piercing, glowing blue eyes like stars give away his identity. He's not actually younger than me. He's older than the stars themselves.

"Shazmar? What's a god want with me?"

"Oh, I just wanted to say hi, and congratulate you on unlocking your Time Magic ability. It's quite the unique talent you have there. You're special!"

"I feel special, alright..." I mutter. "But what do you mean, Time Magic? Did I just, go back in time or something here?"

"That's right!" Shazmar says. "You're smart, too!"

"Oh yeah, I feel smart... Okay, maybe you could tell me what exactly just happened? What's going on here?"

"That would be telling! Besides, I'm sure a smart boy like you can figure it out for yourself."

"Fine. Alright," I say. "Sedder would have killed me, but I didn't want to die, so I went back in time instead? Hmm, is this the day I arrived in Torn Elkandu? A week ago or so?"

I seem to have been coming out of the portal. I had to come alone, because my mother was busy with other things, so she sent me on ahead by myself. She assured me that there wasn't any danger here and that I'd learn all I needed to know about magic. I'm doubting whether she was correct on either account, there.

"Bingo!" Shazmar says. "See, you didn't need me to explain it all for you, now did you?"

"I don't see how traveling through time would have helped the fact that I had my life sucked out, though. And why aren't there two mes here?"

"Because _your_ time travel doesn't work that way, obviously! Duh!"

"Oh. So, only my mind went back in time, back to where my body previously was?"

"Exactly!" Shazmar says. "Oh, and you actually did die. You've just managed to put an enchantment on yourself that triggers traveling back in time upon your death. A rather resilient contingency spell, considering the duress you were under at the time. But at least you won't need to worry about anyone catching you by surprise or anything."

"That's reassuring, I think," I say, not feeling reassured at all.

"Alright, I'll go ahead and explain this part for you, since it might be a little confusing. You can only return to points you have memory of experiencing."

"So, I can't use this power to go into the future."

"Unless you have memory of that future, right," Shazmar says. "But here's the thing. You need to focus and fix points in your memory so that you can return to them. You can't just go to any moment on a whim."

"I don't understand."

"Well, focus on the moment when you arrived. You went there automatically because it's your strongest memory. Seeing Torn Elkandu for the first time. You'll never forget that point. We can call it the starting point, and you'll always be able to return to it."

"Alright..." I say, "but then how do I return to a different point?"

"Focus," Shazmar says. "Record a moment in your memory. Basically, you just need to _save your game,_ and then when you want to return to that moment, you _load a saved game._ "

I stare at him. What sort of nonsense is he talking about? Oh well, I seem to grasp the concept intuitively well enough.

"Anyway, have fun," Shazmar says. "I'll be watching! And don't worry about messing up the multiverse too much. Do what you like, it really won't hurt anything. The multiverse isn't such a fragile thing that one kid with a weird power can cause it to unravel or anything."

"I think I was less worried before you told me not to worry."

Shazmar giggles, and vanishes without another word, leaving me alone on the rune-etched streets of Torn Elkandu once again.

So, I'm effectively immortal? Well, I'm sure there's probably some way to kill me, and I doubt I'd want to go anywhere that magic doesn't work, but I don't really want to intentionally test the limits of that contingency spell Shazmar mentioned.

I have about a week before Sedder shows up to invade Torn Elkandu. Perhaps it would be best if I were simply not here when he arrives. I head over toward the Nexus. The one on duty at the moment is an auburn-haired elven woman with odd silver eyes. She's my fifth cousin or so, Keolah Kedaire, the Seeker of Truth. Where was she when Sedder was here?

"Ah, hello, Lexen," Keolah say. "Looking to go somewhere?"

Actually, I should feel fortunate that it's Keolah in charge here today. She'll be able to take me anywhere I can think of to go, and she's so forgetful that I don't need to worry about her telling my mother where I went afterward.

"Ah, I'm looking for a school where I can learn magic," I say.

"Don't like the one here in Torn Elkandu?"

"Oh, it's fine and all, but I want to see how they use magic in other places too."

"Oh, I see," Keolah says. "You want to get a wider base of knowledge about the universe? That's a good idea. I'll Seek you up some places and give you a list, and you can pick where you want to go first."

"Alright, thanks, Keolah."

"You do know how to get back again, right?"

"Yeah. The Word of Recall spell was the first thing they taught us. And I think half the class didn't even bother to stay for the next lesson. I don't get that. Why wouldn't they want to learn?"

"I don't know," Keolah says with a shrug. "Some people are just unmotivated. They just want some simple, easy things to make their lives easier, but don't really care to go into in-depth magical theory or anything."

Not that I would want to try to Recall back to the Nexus if Sedder is going to be here. Will his Dark Elkandu really succeed in taking over the place? I don't know. I may need to find out. It would be good to know when it's safe to come back.

"Alright, here's the most promising results from my search," Keolah says. "Take your pick, and let me know if you have any more specific criteria. I may be able to find a better match for what you're looking for."

Keolah waves her hands and a swirl of images spring forth in front of her, each with names identifying them hovering above them. Towers, castles, different sorts of buildings. There's quite a variety here, just judging by appearances. Where should I start out with?


	2. The Boy Who Died

I haven't been to this world before.

"How about this one?" I say. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, located in Wizarding Earth."

I point to the faintly shimmering image of a large, grandiose castle nestled beside a lake. Keolah nods, and turns toward the Nexus. She raises her hands, and glowing lines connect her fingertips to the obelisks, runes lighting up one by one.

"Hmm, come to think, I believe we have a cousin on that world," Keolah says.

"Really?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "Anyone I might have heard of?"

"I don't know," Keolah says. "One of Hawthorne's younger children went there. She's not still alive, but I've detected some descendants of hers. I'll set you down outside their house, if you like."

"Sure," I say. "That would be a good place to start, I think."

My great-grandmother's younger children? That would be from her marriage to the human, Jerel Caithnor, rather than the line I'm descended from. My family hadn't really approved of Hawthorne wanting to marry a mensch, a completely non-magical human, and she'd only borne my grandmother Keliole to one of the most powerful elven mages in the world in order to shut them up, I think.

"There you go," Keolah says. "The Nexus is calibrated and ready to go. May your magic never falter."

"And may yours find its favor," I reply in the traditional manner.

I step into the ring of rune-covered obelisks. A strange, glowing mist surrounds me, obscuring my vision. For a moment, I feel as though my body is adrift in a sea of clouds. But then the mist clears again, and my feet are definitely standing on solid ground again.

I've dropped down into the bushes behind a nice, neat house with cleanly trimmed hedges, everything perfect, everything in its proper place. It's so utterly different from my home on Lezaria that it feels almost alien. Hard to believe we're really related.

Well, I'm sure they'll welcome me with open arms, anyway. We're still family, after all, even if we've never met and we've grown up on different worlds. And that's what's really important, isn't it? I step out from the shrubbery and straighten my robes, and head up to knock on the front door.

The door is opened by a thin, blonde woman, who takes one look at me, gasps wide-eyed, and slams the door in my face again before I can even say a single word. Well, that was rude.

"Hello?" I call. "I haven't even done anything yet!"

I hear frantic movement from inside the house, raised voices I can't quite make out. After a few minutes, the door is opened again, this time by a rather broad man with a bushy moustache. His expression is somewhere between alarmed and angry.

"It can't be," says the man. "It's not possible."

"But... Vernon... he looks just like _him_ ," says the woman. "And he looks just as old as _he_ would be now, if..."

"We agreed never to speak of _him_ , Petunia!"

"What are you..." I begin in confusion.

"But how are we supposed to deal with _this_ , then?" Petunia says.

"We ignore it" Vernon replies. "It'll just go away. Ghosts don't exist. We're just hallucinating, I'm sure. Stress, something in the water, I don't know."

"Hey, I'm still here, you know," I say. "What are you even _talking_ about?"

"Maybe it's just some kid playing a prank on us," Petunia says.

"Hey! Hey! My name is Lexen Chelseer! I'm right here! I'm not a ghost, and I'm not playing a prank!"

Finally, the two of them sigh and turn to reluctantly acknowledge me, seeing as I'm not quietly going away or vanishing in a puff of logic.

"You're months too early for Halloween, kid," Vernon says. "What do you want, dressed all queer like that?"

"Seeing as I'm ten years old, the question of whether I'm gay or not hasn't really come up yet," I reply.

Vernon stares at me blankly for several moments. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say.

"Anyway," I go on. "I was told there's relatives of mine living in this house. Are either of you descended from the Caithnors?"

"That's my mother's maiden name..." Petunia says. "Magnolia Caithnor."

"But who _are_ you, and why are you dressed like that?" Vernon wonders.

Maybe wizard robes and blue jeans aren't the best attire for dimension traveling.

"I told you. I'm Lexen Chelseer. I'm the grandson of Magnolia's older half-sister, Keli."

"You still haven't explained what you're doing here, either," Vernon says. "And dressed like a freak."

"Can I come in at least?" I ask. "If you're so alarmed about my appearance, no doubt the neighbors will be too."

That gets his attention. Vernon looks around the street quickly before ushering me inside in a hurry. He still doesn't look too pleased about it, but I'd really rather not cause a scene on the street.

"I certainly didn't expect any relatives from my mother's side to be randomly showing up on the doorstep," Petunia says.

"Good thing Dudley's still at school," Vernon says. "I don't want him exposed to anymore freakishness than necessary."

"Okay, so I'm not really Mr. Fashion Sense," I comment. "Would you have prefered if I wore a kilt instead?"

"No, I'd rather you explain why you're here," Vernon says. "Now."

"What, visiting relatives isn't a good enough reason?" I ask. "If you'd shown up at the house I grew up in, you'd have been welcomed openly, offered lunch, shown the horses."

"Horses?" Vernon wonders.

"Yeah. It's a little village up in the hills. More sheep and horses than people. I've never actually been to the city before."

"And does everyone there dress like freaks?" Vernon asks.

"You know, I could just go naked, if you would prefer," I say.

He stares at me for several moments as if wondering if I'm serious, or whether that would really be an improvement.

"And anyway, what sort of 'freakishness' are you talking about? I mean, lots of wizards wear robes, that's nothing unusual..."

"There! That!" Vernon exclaims. "That sort of freakishness! Don't say that word! I knew it! I knew you were a freak when I saw you!"

"Ah. I see."

So he's a mensch with a strong aversion to magic and those who use it, it seems. I would have thought he'd be more accepting of it, considering the family that he married into, but perhaps that only made him fear it all the more.

"I won't stand for any more of that nonsense in this house!" Vernon says.

"My apologies, sir," I say. "I did not intend to alarm you."

I start to take off my robe, but Vernon stops me.

"What are you doing? I want you out of this house right this instant! And don't ever come back here again!"

"Very well," I say. "I would not wish to intrude. But before I go, I must ask. Who is this 'he' you were talking about?"

Vernon tenses up, and Petunia looks very uneasy. I can smell a secret here, and I want to find out what it is that they're hiding.

"It's nothing," Vernon says quickly. "No one."

"I don't think so," I press. "When you saw me at the door, you were afraid you'd just seen a ghost. Was there another cousin who would've been around my age, who looked like me? What happened to him?"

"No!" Vernon roars. "I will not speak of this, not to you, not to anyone! Get out of my house, right now! Out, out, out!"

By this point, Vernon physically picks me up and carries me out of the room. Petunia opens the door for him, and Vernon hurls me out onto the pavement. I go rolling like a barrel and tumble to a halt at the edge of the street.

I sigh, stand up and brush myself off. Well, that could have gone better. Now what?

Maybe I should have been more sensitive. A dead child wouldn't be an easy thing to deal with. But they were so determined to keep it a secret that it seems awfully suspicious. I just have to wonder if Vernon's attitude is because magic killed this other child... or something worse. Could he have hated magic so much to have killed his own blood? The idea seems sickening to me. A terrifying prospect. And yet it's the thought that ends up sticking in my head, nonetheless.

I don't care to stay around here any longer. This house makes me uneasy. I step off out of sight and Recall back to the Nexus of Torn Elkandu. Strangely, it seems a little more difficult than usual to get the Word of Recall spell off. For half a moment, I panic, thinking I'm not going to be able to make it back, but then I go through with a pop. There just seemed to be a little more resistance than usual.

"You weren't gone long," Keolah says. "Did things not go well?"

"All I found there was a family of mensch with an aversion to anything related to magic," I say. "And the suggestion that there was another child who is now apparently dead under suspicious circumstances."

"Oh my. That doesn't sound good at all."

"I don't have all the details, but I don't think I want to go back to that house again just now. Could you just send me straight to Hogwarts, instead?"

"Hogwarts itself is warded against teleportation well enough to keep me from easily calibrating the Nexus to put you down inside of it. But I'll send you to Hogsmeade, the village just outside of the school."

"That's good," I say. "I wouldn't want to drop into the middle of someplace you're not supposed to be able to teleport into. Send me there."

Keolah recalibrates the Nexus for Hogsmeade, and I step through the mists again. The mists place me down in an alley behind a wooden building. I step out to the edge and glance around. Ah, this looks much better. There's other people wearing robes here. This must be a wizard village! I won't look so out of place here, then.

Hmm. I'm probably going to have to sign up for the school. Perhaps I should ask around for some information. The Hog's Head? That looks like a tavern. Always a good source for information. I go over and head inside. In the tavern, there's two aged men sitting and talking over a bottle. There's nobody else in the room. One of them looks over to me in annoyance when I come in.

"The sign says we're closed, lad."

The other man holds up his hand to quiet the other, staring at me thoughtfully. "Just a moment, Aberforth. There's something strange about him... He reminds me of someone I used to know."

"Whatever you say, Albus," says Aberforth. "Well, come over here, then, lad. Let's get a good look at you, shall we?"

I close the door behind me and go over to the table where Albus and Aberforth are seated. I wonder if they're brothers. But it's hard to tell. They're so _old_. Albus pulls out a wand and murmurs a quick spell before continuing.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think he looks like James, but with Lily's eyes," Albus says. "Who are you, boy?"

James and Lily? Who are these people? Ah, perhaps Petunia's mysterious lost boy was a nephew rather than a son.

"My name is Lexen Chelseer. You had the same reaction as Petunia and Vernon did at seeing me. Like you've seen a ghost. But they refused to give me any details on happened to my cousin. Perhaps you can tell me?"

"So Harry was your cousin?" Albus says.

"I believe so," I say. "I take it Lily was Petunia's sister, I'm guessing?"

"That's correct."

"I've never actually met them before, you see, but Petunia and Lily's mother was my grandmother's younger sister. Which would make Harry my second cousin, am I right?"

"Ah, yes, I see," Albus says. "Still, for a second cousin, you look remarkably like I imagine Harry would have at your age, had he lived."

"So he did die? I'm sorry. How did it happen?"

"After his parents were killed, I had placed him in the care of Petunia and Vernon Dursley. But regretfully, I did not realize that Vernon was so hateful and abusive. Nothing could be pinned on him directly, and yet poor little Harry wound up dead at the age of five. An apparent accident, fell down the stairs, or they claimed."

So my cousin Harry died young, and most likely his Uncle Vernon was responsible. I'm not sure what I should feel about this information. I never met this Harry, and yet I feel a twinge of desire for revenge.

"I see," I say. "I'm sorry to hear that."

I look to the floor. I don't want them to see the look of pure hate in my eyes.

"Lexen, you're now one of the few people who knows that Harry Potter is dead. The Boy Who Lived... and I failed him utterly."

"Thank you for telling me," I say. "But I don't understand what you mean by 'The Boy Who Lived'."

"You don't know?" Albus says in some surprise.

"I'm not from around here, so to speak."

"Ah, that would explain it," Albus says with a nod. "I _thought_ you had an American accent."

I don't know where America might be, either, but I don't care to question that point at the moment.

Albus says, "I would expect you had at least heard of the Dark Lord, Voldemort, but perhaps international concerns of a decade ago weren't household talk where you grew up."

"Yeah, haven't heard of him, I'm afraid," I say. "I, well, I grew up in a small village populated mostly by non-magical people."

"Understandable if you've mostly grown up around Muggles," Albus says, nodding. "Very well. Let me explain. This Dark Lord was so terrifying that most people did not even dare to speak his name. They called him You-Know-Who, or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He and his followers, the Death Eaters, were responsible for much death and destruction. But then, he killed James and Lily Potter, and then when he cast the Killing Curse upon their infant son, Harry, the curse rebounded. Rather than dying, Harry merely got a magical scar on his forehead, and Voldemort's body was destroyed instead."

"And I don't know how much you know about magic, lad, but nobody's ever survived the Killing Curse like that before," Aberforth adds.

"So this Dark Lord is dead now, because he couldn't kill a baby for some reason?"

"Voldemort isn't truly dead," Albus says. "His spirit remains, a shadow of its former self, ever seeking a way to return to power once again."

 

"But that hasn't stopped people from celebrating his defeat and hailing the Boy Who Lived a hero and savior," Aberforth says.

"And they don't realize that their young hero is already dead because of abusive Muggles," I say. "I can see how that would be a problem."

"Ah, yes," Albus says. "Poor Harry would have started school this year, too. I've been able to keep this quiet for five years only because he was living in the Muggle world at the time. But people are going to wonder if he doesn't show up at Hogwarts."

"I suppose when you saw me walk in that door, you were hoping that I _was_ Harry, somehow, weren't you."

"There were a few ways in which it might have been possible, yes," Albus says. "Perhaps you were a Harry from another universe that came to save this universe as well, for instance."

"No such luck. I'm not Harry. But if you're looking for salvation from a young boy, I'll give it my best shot."

"You would take Harry's place?" Albus says, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know how well that would work..."

"Better than nothing, right?" I say. "I don't know if I can really save the world or anything, but I'm not afraid to try. And I don't have any magical scars, but I look enough like him to pass for him in his absence."

"Hmm... I suppose you're right. And you have spirit if nothing else."

"And even if I fail to do anything, at least you won't have to admit to the world how Harry really died."

"You know my shame," Albus says, bowing his head. "Very well. I cannot argue with that. Are you sure you want to do this? You won't be able to just walk away from this. You'll be Harry for the rest of your life."

"I'm sure," I say. "That's fine. I'm nobody here to begin with."

"Very well," Albus says. "Let this be done, then."

"You'll need to look the part, though," Aberforth says. "You're just missing a scar."

"I'll take care of that," Albus says. "Lexen, please hold still. This will hurt a bit."

"Um... alright."

I hold perfectly still, a little nervous as Albus raises his wand and points it at my face. He utters one word, and I'm struck with a blast of agony in the middle of my forehead. I cry out involuntarily, and I resist the urge to clutch my hands to my forehead and double over in torment. I clench my teeth in pain, but he told me to hold still, so I diligently hold still. Something wet is running down my face. What did he _do_ to me?

"I think you overdid it a bit there, Albus," Aberforth says.

"Lexen, are you alright?"

"I think I'm bleeding," I say.

"Ah, yes, you are," Albus says. "My apologies. Let's get you something to clean that up with."

Aberforth brings out a cloth to mop up my forehead with. The pain is starting to fade a little at least, but there's still definitely a wound there.

"Honestly, I'm surprised you're still standing after being hit with a Dark curse like that," Aberforth says. "Albus, what were you thinking?"

"I'm alright," I insist. "Don't worry about me."

Sure, it hurt and all, but I've _died_ before. This is nothing compared to something like that.

"I did have to hit him with something that would not normally heal magically," Albus says.

"Albus, you just hit a ten-year-old boy with a powerful Dark curse," Aberforth retorts.

"Hey, I said I'm alright," I say. "No need to fuss."

"This boy is made of some stern stuff," Albus says.

"Indeed," Aberforth agrees. "Let's take a look at you, lad. Ah, good, the bleeding's stopped already."

"Hmm," Albus says, studying me. "The shape looks close enough, at least for anyone that hasn't actually seen Harry. It will suffice."

"Won't it look like a _fresh_ scar for a while yet, rather than an old one like it should?" I point out.

"It won't actually change much from the state it's at now. And there's only a couple of people who would recognize it as not being quite right. I will need to speak with them and take measures."

"Oh, Albus, you know Rubeus can't keep a secret to save his life," Aberforth says.

"Yes, I'll need to modify his memory, I'm afraid," Albus says. "Minerva, on the other hand, can be trusted. The three of us here, plus Minerva, will be the only ones to know about this charade."

"You sure it's a good idea to let Minerva in on this, too?" Aberforth asks. "She'll have to interact with him in class a lot. What if she treats him differently, knowing the truth?"

"I believe she can keep the act up."

"It would also mean admitting to her that you fucked up pretty bad."

"Aberforth..."

"Didn't she argue against leaving Harry with those Muggles?" Aberforth points out. "And you convinced her that it would be alright?"

"Fine... You're right," Albus says with a sigh. "Let us keep this between the three of us. No one else must know. Lexen will need to learn Occlumency as quickly as possible as well, to ensure that no one reads his mind, either."

"Occlumency?" I say. "I take it that would prevent mind reading?"

"Indeed," Albus says. "I'll give you some personal lessons over the summer. Hopefully it will be sufficient, but if not, there are alternative measures that could be taken."

"I'll do my best, sir."

"Where's the lad to stay in the meantime?" Aberforth says. "We certainly can't send him to the Dursleys."

"Can you hold him up here, Aberforth?"

"What? This is a tavern, not a boarding school. _You_ run the boarding school. Bah, fine, he can stay upstairs."

"I must go and make some arrangements now, to ensure that magically and legally, you are recognized as Harry Potter."

"Alright, alright. I'll get him squared away, and then I need to get this tavern opened up again."

At least they don't seem to mind that I'm pretty clueless about this world. This wasn't really how I had intended to get into school here. But I'll go along with this. I'll be Harry Potter. Even if I don't really understand why they seem to expect salvation from a young boy.


	3. Diagon Alley

Albus Dumbledore sits down to personally teach me how to shield my mind from unwanted intrusions. "It will be very important to learn this, if we don't want it to slip out that you're not who you seem to be. And I imagine that it will be very useful in the future for you, if you want to keep your status as a dimensional traveler a secret."

"That it will," I agree. "Wait, you know I'm not actually from America? Oh, wait, you were probably reading my mind yourself."

Albus chuckles softly and gives a nod, grinning at me knowingly.

It takes me a while to catch on to the basics of Occlumency. I have no particular inherent talent with mental magic, but I'm apparently stubborn enough that I can manage it despite that.

"You have a strong mind, dear boy. I have no doubt that you will have sufficiently mastered this skill by the time school starts."

"Do the teachers at Hogwarts regularly read their students' minds?"

"Not normally, no," Albus says. "But there are some who I know are good with Legilimency, and I would rather not take the chance. Likewise, I would not discount running across someone in public who might try it, as well."

"I suppose I'm not going to be at the school all of the time."

"Yes, you'll be needing to collect your school supplies soon," Albus says. "I think your skill has progressed to the point where you can do that safely now. Just try to avoid maintaining eye contact with anyone suspicious."

"Alright," I say. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

I find that learning to put up walls in my mind to keep people out is fairly comforting. My mind is my own. I don't want anyone else messing with it if I can possibly help it. My secrets are my own. Nobody is going to find them out unless I want them to.

* * *

Rubeus Hagrid is taking me to Diagon Alley to pick up my school supplies, or so Aberforth told me. A veritable giant of a man steps in through the door to the Hog's Head while I'm eating some breakfast, and I glance over that way.

"Morning, Hagrid," says one of the patrons. "You here for a drink?"

"Sorry, I'm here on business today," Hagrid says. "Harry! There you are."

There's a sudden buzz around the room as people suddenly notice me and turn toward me. I should get used to the attention. I'm supposed to be the famous Harry Potter, after all.

"Is it really him? The Boy Who Lived? What's he doing here in the Hog's Head?"

I chuckle softly and pull back my hair to reveal the scar on my forehead. It wasn't as bad as it felt, and really does look like it might be a decade-old mark now.

"Eating breakfast, as you can see," I say.

I quickly finish eating and then go over to the fireplace with Hagrid. We'll be traveling there by Floo. I've never actually traveled by Floo before. It seems like a strange way to travel. We step through the fireplace and get wrenched across the country. I go tumbling out of the fireplace at the far end.

"Not much one for Floo travel, are ye?" Hagrid says. "Blimey, you do look just like James, but with Lily's eyes."

I stand up and brush a bit of soot off myself. It never ceases to amaze me how people think I look like a man I'm not even related to, just because they assume I should.

"Your parents were great people," Hagrid goes on. "A powerful witch and wizard. It was a sad day when You-Know-Who took them from the world."

It's kind of a pity that Aberforth was too busy to come himself today. I like him. I'm not so sure about Hagrid. I think I'd really rather have just come by myself. Maybe I can find a way to ditch Hagrid. Before he goes on too much about James and Lily.

Hagrid shows me the way into Diagon Alley, and we head inside. It's kind of comforting to be here. It reminds me of Torn Elkandu, in a way. A magical place for magical people. Our first stop is the bank, Gringotts. Albus got me access to the Potter vaults. Harry was the last of their line, apparently, and he figured that James would rather I have their fortune than Petunia or some random wizard cousin. We also make a stop at a different vault, where Hagrid retrieves a small, nondescript package and tucks it away in a pocket.

"What's that?" I ask.

"Just something Dumbledore wanted me to pick up for him. Nothing important, don't you worry none about it."

The way he says it makes me think that it's very important and that I should be quite worried about it. And wonder if it's really alright for him to be walking around Diagon Alley all day with something so vaguely important in his pocket. Well, I suppose nobody is likely to think Dumbledore would be stupid enough to entrust anything important to someone like Hagrid, and in a way, that's kind of brilliant. Sort of.

The goblin then takes us over to the Potter vault. I have to wonder just what kind of legal entanglements Dumbledore had to go through to get this to recognize me as the legitimate heir. At least I can be glad I didn't have to deal with it myself. I scoop out a small pile of gold coins into a bag, and we leave the bank.

Let's see. I'll need to collect books, a wand, uniform robes, and some other miscellaneous school supplies like a cauldron for making potions and whatnot. I might also want to consider picking up a pet.

"I'm gonna head over to the Leaky Cauldron for a bit of a pick-me-up," Hagrid says. "Those goblin carts always make me feel queasy."

"Take your time, I'll be fine."

Excellent. Giant successfully ditched, at least for the moment. Feeling much relieved to be alone for once, I stride off to continue my school shopping. I pick up my books and miscellaneous supplies, taking special care to keep an eye out for anything extracurricular that might be of particular interest. But these clearly aren't the sorts of shops that carry the more interesting things, unfortunately. A little disappointed, I head over to the tailor to get fitted for new robes. There's currently a blond boy around my age being measured.

"I'll be with you in a moment, once I'm finished fitting young Mr. Malfoy here."

"Hello," says Malfoy. "Hogwarts for you too?"

I nod in agreement. He doesn't seem to instantly recognize me as Harry Potter like some have done. That's fine by me. Let's see how he reacts to me without knowing who I'm supposed to be.

"Do you know what House you're going to be in?" Malfoy asks.

"I'm afraid I don't know anything about that," I reply. "I was raised over in the States. I haven't been in Britain since I was just a baby."

"I see," Malfoy says. "Well, there's four Houses. Slytherin's the best of them, of course. That's where you go if you're pureblooded, clever, and ambitious. Gryffindor's where you go if you've got more courage than common sense. Ravenclaw's for the ones who study too much. And Hufflepuff's for the duffers who don't fit anywhere else."

I get the impression that Malfoy's descriptions are just a little biased.

"I think if I wound up in Hufflepuff, I'd probably kill myself from shame just because of the name."

"I know, right?" Malfoy says. "So if you were born here, didn't your parents tell you anything about Hogwarts?"

"My parents are dead," I reply.

"Oh. But they were our kind, right?"

"Yeah," I say. "Although my blood's not quite so pure as it could be. My great-grandmother decided to marry a Muggle of all things, you see. Caused a big scandal at the time, apparently. And then my grandmother didn't have any magic."

"A Squib, huh?" Malfoy says. "Guess it serves them right for marrying Muggles. Ugh."

"And then my grandmother moved to Britain to get away from all that, apparently. But her daughter turned out to have magic after all. She was believed to be Muggle-born, though, since my grandmother wasn't talking, or maybe she had her memory modified. I don't know."

It's kind of strange thinking of my family tree from Harry's point of view, but I'm a Chelseer. Family has always been important to us.

"That's quite the story," Malfoy says. "So how'd you end up finding out about it?"

"I was taken in by cousins on my mother's side of the family after my parents were killed. That's where I've been living this past decade."

"I see," Malfoy says. "Well, I'd say that's still probably good enough for Slytherin, though. There's still half-bloods in there, after all. It's not like you're a Mudblood, after all. And from the sounds of it, your mum wasn't either, even if she got mistaken for one."

"There you go, Mr. Malfoy, you're all set. Now it's your turn, young sir. What's your name?"

"Harry Potter," I say.

I get up to where Malfoy was standing to be measured myself. Malfoy, however, doesn't leave immediately, instead staring at me with a bit of surprise.

"You're Potter?" Malfoy says in surprise, looking over me appraisingly. "I heard you'd be around my age, but I didn't think I'd run into you before school."

"Heh. Stranger things have happened," I say. "I don't have many friends in this country yet. You want to go finish up shopping with me?"

"Sure! I'll be your friend, Potter."

"I'm glad to hear that. Hope you'll forgive that I'm still a little clueless about this country yet."

"That's alright. I can tell you whatever you need to know."

"Thanks, Malfoy."

"So, have you played Quidditch much? Do they even have Quidditch over in the States?"

"I don't know if they play it there or not, but I haven't heard of it. What's it like?"

"It's played between two teams on brooms. There's a ball called a Quaffle that the Chasers try to get through the goal hoops, and two other balls called Bludgers that the Beaters try to hit the opposing team with, and most importantly, there's a little ball called the Snitch that the Seeker tries to catch."

"Sounds interesting, but I prefer more direct competition, myself," I say. "Face to face, one on one."

"Like wizard chess?"

"Oh, chess is good, too. But I was thinking more like, dueling. I enjoy the look on your opponent's face the moment he realizes you're better than him, and he doesn't stand a chance, and you could kill him on a whim..."

I think I must have a disturbing look on my face, because the seamstress stops what she's doing to stare at me oddly. I quickly go on to cover myself.

"Not that I've had a chance to do it for real, of course. And I certainly haven't killed anyone yet."

Malfoy laughs aloud in amusement as the tailor resumes her work again. "You know what, Potter? I think I like you already."

The seamstress finishes up measuring me, and Malfoy and I head out of the building again to continue shopping. Outside, we run into Hagrid, who seems to have been waiting for me. Damn, is he already done drinking?

"Ah, Harry, sorry about that," Hagrid says. "Ye been finding everything alright? Who's this?"

"I'm fine, Hagrid," I say. "I can find my way around myself. And this here is a new friend of mine."

"You're here with Hagrid?" Malfoy says. "Isn't he like, the school groundskeeper or something?"

"Professor Dumbledore entrusted me with Harry's safety! It's quite the honor."

"I do appreciate it, but I don't think I'm in any real danger here at the moment. Why don't you go somewhere you can keep watch, and in the unlikely event that Death Eaters randomly attack Diagon Alley, you can call for help?"

"Ah, fine, fine, I suppose yer right," Hagrid says. "But I was gonna get you a birthday present."

Oh, right, it's supposed to be Harry's birthday today, isn't it?

"Well, in that case, wouldn't it be best if I don't know what it is?" I say. "Why don't we meet back at the Leaky Cauldron at, say, noon and we can all have cake and celebrate?"

"Ah, that's a splendid idea!" Hagrid says. "Alright, then, I'll see you later, Harry."

We part ways, and Hagrid heads off. I breathe a sigh of relief when he's out of sight again.

"I thought I was never going to lose him," I say. "Like he could ensure my safety anyway. What's he going to do, sit on anyone that bothers me?"

"Hah. He looks like a big oaf to me. Can he even do magic?"

"I have no idea," I say.

"Have you gotten your wand yet?"

"Not yet," I say. "I was thinking of heading there next."

"Me either," Malfoy says. "Let's go there, then."

We head over to the wand shop, Ollivander's, and head inside. The place is small and dim, and there are boxes and boxes of wands lining the shelves, far more than it seems like there should be room for in such a cramped space. I kind of wonder what the deal is with wands. The Elkandu never used any such thing, that I ever saw. It just seems like a crutch to me, to have to rely on such a thing in order to do magic. What would happen if your wand got lost or broken? You'd be screwed.

"Ah, another couple young customers. Bound for Hogwarts, I imagine? I am Mr. Ollivander, wand-maker and proprietor of this shop. And who might you lads be?"

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

"I'm Harry Potter."

"Ah, the young Mr. Potter," Ollivander says. "I remember every wand that I've ever made, and I regret to say that I sold the wand that gave you that scar."

Perhaps he did, but it's not the one he thinks it is.

"Yew wood with a core of phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches," Ollivander goes on. "A great wand, destined for great things. Terrible things, but great."

"Well, I'm hardly going to blame you for it, sir," I say. "Nor the wand, for that matter."

"Well, let's see if we can get the two of you matched up to wands of your own," Ollivander says. "It's the wand that chooses its bearer, after all, and your spells will always be more effective with your own wand than someone else's. Which are your wand arms, lads?"

"Right," Malfoy says.

"I'm left-handed," I say.

"Let's try these wands for you then, shall we?" Ollivander says. "Just pick it up and give it a little swish."

I pick up the wand offered to me and experimentally wave it around. A box on the shelf to my right goes flying and nearly hits me in the head.

"No, no, that's no good at all," Ollivander says. "Let's try some unicorn hair instead."

"Is this really the best way to do this?" I wonder.

"I've been doing this since before you were born," Ollivander says. "Here, try this one."

Malfoy and I test out a number of wands. He gets a good match before I do, with a wand made from hawthorn and unicorn hair. I, on the other hand, require a good deal more checking. I start to worry if I'm going to find a match at all, given my circumstances. Ollivander seems a little nonplussed when one wand of holly and phoenix feather fails to do anything for me. Did he expect that would be my wand for some reason? But he says nothing about it and moves on quickly. Finally, one wand gives off a shower of green sparks, rather than causing more destruction of the shop.

"Aha, there we go, excellent match!" Ollivander says. "Pine and dragon heartstring, twelve inches."

Malfoy and I pay for our wands and head out onto Diagon Alley again.

"It feels good to finally have my own wand," Malfoy says.

"Do you know many spells yet, Malfoy?"

"Nah, not much," he replies. "I've practiced a little with my mother's wand, but nothing that'll really help in school."

I'm about to ask him if there's anywhere around here with more 'interesting' sorts of shops, when a blond man and woman approach us.

"Ah, there you are, Draco," says the woman. "Did you get your wand already? Who's your friend?"

"This is Harry Potter, Mum."

"Really?" says the man. "I am Lucius Malfoy, and this is my wife, Narcissa."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," I say.

"Such a polite young man," Lucius says. "I'd heard you were around Draco's age. I imagine you'll be going to Hogwarts as well?"

"That's right, sir," I say.

"What is that accent?" Lucius wonders. "Have you been living in the States?"

"Yes, sir," I say. "I grew up in America with my mother's family."

"Wasn't your mother a Mud-- Muggle-born?" Lucius says. "Did they really send you off to live with Muggles?"

"No, sir," I reply. "My grandmother was actually a Squib, but nobody realized it at the time. I've been living with her wizard relatives."

"Ah! I see," Lucius says.

"Are you both done with your shopping yet?" Narcissa asks.

"I've got everything I need now," Draco says.

"Me, too," I say. "Though I was thinking of looking around a little more before the party. Would you like to come to my birthday party, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy?"

"It's your birthday today?" Lucius says. "Draco just turned eleven last month himself."

"Well, I don't know that it'll be much of a party, anyway," I say with a shrug. "I just told Hagrid to meet me at the Leaky Cauldron at noon, mostly just to get him out of my hair for a bit. I can't really expect much of a real party from him, anyway."

"Well, that simply won't do," Lucius says.

"Father, can Potter come over to the manor this evening for his birthday?"

"Hmm, that would be fine," Lucius says. "I'll have one of the house-elves make a cake. Feel free to look around a bit more, Draco. We'll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron when you're ready. I'd just love to see what that brute Hagrid thinks of as an acceptable party."

"Alright, Father."

The parents head off again, leaving me and Draco alone for the moment.

"What was it you wanted to look at still?" Draco asks.

"Oh, I just wanted to see if I could find anything interesting around here. And by 'interesting' I mean 'not on the school curriculum'," I say.

"Hah, I know exactly what you mean," Draco says. "Let's go take a look down Knockturn Alley, then, shall we?"

He leads me off down away from the brightly lit streets and into a darker section of wizarding London. This place has a much different feel to it than the place we'd been in before. It seems a little more run-down, with shadows clinging to every corner that it seems as though anything might be lurking in.

"Nice place," I comment.

"This is the best place in London to find Dark books and artifacts," Draco says.

We head into a shop named Borgin and Burkes. This place is full of a number of fascinating objects of a questionable nature. Frankly, I'd found the merchandise in the regular shops to be fairly mundane and boring. I'm careful not to actually touch anything, however. It's always good to exercise caution with regards to unknown magical artifacts.

"Hello, boys," says a man. "Can I help you with anything?"

"We're just browsing today, Mr. Borgin," Draco says. "My friend here just arrived from the States recently and wanted to see something more 'interesting' than the shops over in Diagon Alley."

"No kidding, I could spend all day in here," I say.

Draco snickers softly, amused. Mr. Borgin looks over to me curiously, and frowns when he notices the scar on my forehead.

"Is that... Harry Potter?" Borgin says. "In my shop?"

"That's right," Draco says. "Funny, I would've never pinned Potter for an aspiring Dark wizard."

"You'd be less surprised if you'd seen the people who raised me."

"Oh?" Draco says, raising an eyebrow.

"I wish I knew how to analyze the enchantments on these myself," I say. "What do they do?"

Mr. Borgin proceeds to go into a spiel trying to sell me one rather fascinating item after another. While I didn't come in here to buy, I'm certainly not against picking up something that sounds like it might be useful. I listen intently with fascination. While the objects for sale are quite interesting, I don't have any immediate use for any of them, and don't care to get caught with something supposedly 'evil' that only might come in handy. As I'm looking, I lose track of time, until Draco pokes me in the ribs.

"Potter, it's almost noon," Draco says. "Unless you're _trying_ to miss meeting up with Hagrid, in which case I wouldn't blame you."

"Ah, I suppose we'd better go," I say. "I'll keep this place in mind if there's ever anything I'm looking for."


	4. A Malfoy Summer

We go out again and head back over toward the Leaky Cauldron. As we walk in, it sounds like Hagrid has gotten into an argument with Lucius Malfoy. It seems like Hagrid is angry and Lucius is coolly calm, which probably means Lucius is winning. Well, I don't care to interrupt them or to spoil good entertainment, I go over to grab something to drink and sit down to watch in amusement as Hagrid bellows until he's blue in the face.

"And I'm certainly not going to let Harry get kidnapped by Death Eaters on my watch!" Hagrid says. "Oh, hello, Harry. Sorry, I didn't see you come back."

"While your protectiveness is admirable, I haven't seen any Death Eaters attempting to kidnap me today," I point out.

"Harry, maybe you don't realize it, but the Malfoys are a family of Dark wizards! They were big supporters of You-Know-Who!"

I frown faintly, and look over toward Lucius and Narcissa, raising an eyebrow questioningly at them.

"Mr. Malfoy, is this true?" I ask.

"Ah, well..." Lucius says.

"Say no more," I say, waving a hand.

"See?" Hagrid says. "He can't even deny it!"

"Hagrid, do quiet down," I say. "You do have an indoor voice, don't you?"

"Sorry. They just get me so steamed up..."

"I understand, but relax."

I pin my gaze upon Lucius and Narcissa with a hard look in my eyes. "I won't judge you for what may or may not have happened in the past, but understand this. The Dark Lord killed my parents. He tried to kill _me_. If he shows up again, _I will kill him._ And if anyone stands in my way, _I will kill them, too._ Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

"Ah, yes, of course, of course, I understand..." Lucius says.

"Good. Now, did anyone bring any cake?"

Everyone watching me blinks a little at my sudden shift of mood from dark to bright.

"Er... yeah, I brought a cake," Hagrid says. "I even made it myself."

He pulls out a bright pink cake with the words 'HAPPEE BIRTHDAE HARRY' written on it. Well, at least he managed to spell the name right.

"Oh, please, is that the best you could do?" Lucius says.

"Oh, yes," I say. "He did his best. He tried his hardest. He put his whole heart into it. Well, perhaps not literally. Let's eat."

"I'll pass," Lucius says. "Narcissa and I really should be going now."

he two of them go over to the Floo and return to Malfoy Manor, leaving me and Draco with Hagrid and the hideous cake from hell. Well, I'm sure it can't be that bad. It appears to be a vaguely cake-like substance, after all. I cut the cake, and we eat. Draco seems decidedly hesitant about the prospect, but he does sit down and eat a small slice as well. Amazingly, it's even not a complete failure, cake-wise. I've certainly had worse. Usually when it was Hawthorne attempting to cook.

"Well, this party could've gone better," Hagrid says. "There were a bunch of other people here, but they all left when me and Malfoy started arguing at each other. Sorry."

"That's alright," I say. "And honestly, while I do appreciate your warnings, I'll prefer to make my own judgments."

"Yeah," Hagrid says. "Yeah. I understand. Sorry, Harry."

"Now, are you going to flip out if I decide to go over to visit the Malfoys now?"

"But... they're..."

I smirk, and say, "If they were really the Dark Lord's supporters, wouldn't it be smarter to have them on my side and deprive him of followers while simultaneously gaining some of my own?"

"I... well... I s'pose that makes sense... but how could you trust them?"

"I'm still here, you know," Draco says.

"Look," I say. "I'll be fine, alright? I can deal with it myself."

"Dumbledore's not going to be happy about this..." Hagrid says.

"You can just tell Dumbledore what I just told you."

"Oh!" Hagrid says. "I almost forgot. I got you a present!"

Hagrid goes over into the next room and returns with a cage. He pulls the cover off of it to reveal a sleek bird, black as soot.

"Is that a crow?" I ask.

"It's a raven," Draco says.

"I was going to get you a snowy white owl, but this one seemed to suit you better for some reason," Hagrid says.

"Thanks, Hagrid. Hmm, you're going to need a name, aren't you? I could always call you something terribly cliche, like Midnight, or Ebony, or Blackwing, or something." 

The raven shakes his head a bit and makes a displeased sound, and I have to laugh a bit at that.

"Didn't think you'd go in for that," I say with a smirk. "So, let's see then... how about... Solomon? No, not that, maybe... Balthazar? You like that, huh?"

The raven reacts positively to this suggestion, seeming quite happy. I reach into the cage and stroke the bird affectionately, and give him a bit of the birthday cake Hagrid made for me as well.

"Balthazar?" Draco says. "That's a good name."

"So, shall we head off to your place now?" I ask. "Will your parents mind?"

"Nah, it's fine," Draco says. "Let's go."

"See you later, Hagrid."

Draco and I step over to the fireplace and use the Floo to travel to Malfoy Manor. As usual, I land less than gracefully in the middle of the Malfoys' sitting room. Balthazar's cage goes tumbling, and he makes a noise of protest until I set it upright again.

"Ah, hello, Harry," Lucius says. "Welcome to my home."

If he's still unnerved by the blatant threat I gave him earlier, he doesn't show it. And I'm not going to apologize for it, either. I'll ignore whatever he might have done in the past, but if he decides to make myself my enemy, there will be hell to pay.

"Nice place you've got here."

"Oh, yes, it's an old manor that has been in my family for centuries."

"It reminds me of the place I grew up in, but with fewer crazy women," I say. "Unless you've got some of those hiding around here, too."

"Ah, no," Lucius says. "So tell me about this American wizard family you grew up with, Harry. You call them 'crazy'... What were they like?"

"Oh, let's see," I say. "There was Hawthorne, my great-grandmother... she's entirely too fond of running people through with a sword, and don't let her age fool you, she's still deadly with that thing. Then there's her oldest daughter, her only pureblood child, Keli, who thought that 'defending the light' entailed murdering a bunch of people who were going to kill some Dark wizards. And then there's Keli's twin daughters, Anara and Thelsa. Anara's a bit fond of fire and lightning, while Thelsa has a thing for plants. And poisons. And all of them seem to think that the best way to continue their family line is to go abroad and find the most powerful wizard they can get away with seducing, get pregnant, and then make him forget about them and disappear."

"That... sounds like a rather... interesting family, yes," Lucius says slowly.

"But hey, at least I wasn't raised by _Muggles_ ," I say. "I very nearly was, you know. Dumbledore wanted to pass me off into the wonderful care of my Squib of an aunt and her Muggle husband. Who despise magic with a passion. That would have ended well, I'm sure..."

"Why in the world would he want to do that?" Lucius says. "Any wizard family in the country would have been glad to take you in."

"A moment of poor judgment?" I say. "I don't know. I'm just glad I got the crazy, violent women instead."

"Well, it would certainly explain the fact that I've never seen an eleven-year-old give such a look of murderous hatred as I saw on you earlier," Lucius says.

"Or that comment you made before, at the tailor," Draco adds. "About enjoying dueling and killing people."

I snicker softly. I hope Dumbledore wasn't hoping for a squeaky clean, 'light' savior. I'm still perfectly happy to help people, save people, whatever, sure. I just have more direct opinions on the best way to do that than some people might.

"So um... Have you ever killed anyone before?" Draco asks.

"What?" I say. "Oh. No, not yet."

"That 'yet' is what's disturbing people, I think," Draco points out.

"Well, it's honest," I say. "There's a few people I'm already planning to kill, and that list will no doubt grow."

Lucius gives me a long, thoughtful look for several moments, as if evaluating me. "Yes, I believe you would, too."

"What?" I say.

"I think you would actually be capable of killing people," Lucius says.

"Well, I should hope so..." I say. "I'm going to need a lot of practice with magic before I can do much with that, though."

"That's not what I meant," Lucius says. "There are some people who, even in a war, even when their lives are on the line, don't strike to kill. They still have an aversion to killing. They try to disarm or disable their opponent without harming them, and this weakens them."

"Well, yeah, it takes a lot more skill to be able to pull off something like that," I say. "Outright killing is the easiest thing you can do."

Lucius chuckles softly, and I have to wonder if there isn't something that I'm just failing to understand.

"So, Harry, tell me," Lucius says. "Under what circumstances do you believe it would be acceptable to kill someone?"

"If they were my enemy," I say. "If they were trying to attack me or my allies. If they got in the way of something I want to do. If they were disrupting my plans. If they pissed me off. If I felt like it and could get away with it..."

Lucius seems highly amused by something. He's just sitting in his chair, chuckling heartily, as if enjoying a wonderful joke.

"Did I say something funny?"

"Oh, just a bit," Lucius says. "I'm just imagining what Dumbledore might think that his precious Harry Potter has turned out to be so amoral. But I don't think that's a bad thing. You have my wholehearted approval and support, Mr. Potter. And I don't say that lightly."

"Well, thank you," I say. "I'm glad for that. I'd rather have you as an ally than an enemy. And I don't believe in killing my allies, at least. That's just pointless and wasteful."

"Ah, if only you were the Dark Lord instead," Lucius says. "But enough of that. It's your birthday. Why don't we have some dinner, cake, and presents?"

"Sounds good to me."

We head over into the kitchen to eat. I don't care that I just had a big slice of Hagrid's pink cake. I'm perfectly welcome for more. Our dinner appears to have been prepared and served by weird little creatures with long, floppy ears. Since the Malfoys treat their appearance as perfectly normal, I try to hide my alarm at seeing them, even though I have no idea what they are.

"So where have you been staying while you're in this country, Harry?" Narcissa asks.

"At the Hog's Head," I say. "Not really ideal, but better than nothing, I suppose."

"Oh, that won't do at all," Narcissa says. "You really should stay here with us! We've got plenty of spare rooms, and we'd be happy to have you while you're not at school."

"Would you?" I say. "Thanks, I really do appreciate the offer."

After dinner, they offer me presents. I can't really expect much on such short notice, but I don't mind. Lucius gives me a dueling wand holster, old but in excellent condition. Narcissa, on the other hand, gives me a box of frogs made of enchanted chocolate. Draco, meanwhile, runs off to grab his own present. A book bound in black leather.

"Here," Draco says, handing it to me. "I hope you don't already know everything in this book."

"What is it?" I ask.

"It's, um, a beginner's Dark Arts book," Draco says. "Hexes and jinxes. I've already got most of it down, myself."

"Ah! Thank you," I say. "I'll be sure to put this to good use. Or bad use, or whatever. Heh."

"Just don't get caught with it at school," Draco says. "Some of the teachers might not entirely approve of it."

"I'll keep that in mind," I say. "But then I think I'd prefer not to get caught in _any_ of the 'extracurricular activities' I might engage in."

* * *

I study the book Draco gave me extensively. I'm itching to try some of this out, even if they are just minor hexes and jinxes. Things to cause annoyance and discomfort at best. Everything's got to start somewhere, though. Still, even if they're only annoying, I'm hesitant to test them out on someone I actually like. I'd really rather not be casting spells with negative effects on Draco without good reason. That's just... impolite, really.

"Do you need a test subject?" Draco asks.

"Yeah," I say. "This stuff sounds fun, but I doubt _you_ want to be the target of any of it."

"Heh, no," Draco says. "Dobby!"

One of the strange little creatures appears in the room with a soft pop. He's a small, ugly creature with long, pointed ears and nose, wearing what appears to be a pillowcase.

"Yes, Young Master?" the creature, apparently Dobby, asks. "What you need from Dobby?"

"Dobby, hold still and let Harry here test out his new spells on you," Draco says.

Still, I hesitate, frowning at the frightened little creature. Dobby appears to be absolutely terrified by the prospect, but obediently stands still as he was ordered to do. I don't know what sort of creature this is, but he seems loyal and obedient. He's an ally, not an enemy.

"Go ahead," Draco says. "Dobby'll take whatever you can dish out at him." He looks askance at me, noticing my hesitation to harm the little creature. "What? He's just a house-elf! Just relax and go ahead. What are you, a house-elf lover? Or did your old house not even have them?"

"Er," I say. "No, they didn't. I've... never seen a... house-elf before."

"What kind of a backwards pureblood family was that?" Draco wonders. "Who did the cooking and cleaning around the house, then?"

"Keli, usually," I say. "So what _is_ a house-elf?"

This... being doesn't look like any sort of elf _I've_ ever seen. Lezarian elves have long ears, but they're human-sized and much better looking. This creature is closer to what I'd think of as a gnome than an elf.

"They're magical servants," Draco explains. "They have to be obey any command given to them by their rightful owner."

"So basically, they're slaves?" I ask. "How many house-elves does your family own?"

"Five of them," Draco says. "And you make that sound like a bad thing. They live to serve. That's the only purpose of their existence."

"Dobby do something wrong? Dobby must punish himself!" The little house-elf starts beating his head against the floor. Anger wells up in me at the sight despite myself, overriding all reason.

"Stop that, Dobby," I say. "Stop that!"

I point my wand at Draco in a rage, and magic flies out unbidden, striking him with an electrical shock.

"Ow! Hey!" Draco protests. "What did you do? Was that even in the book? No, you didn't even say an incantation. Accidental magic."

I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. It wouldn't do to get angry at my friend like this and wind up hurting him.

"Sorry," I say. "I just got angry for a moment there. And that house-elf isn't helping."

"Dobby, go back to the kitchens."

"Yes, Young Master. Dobby go now." The house-elf vanishes from the room again with a soft pop.

"I suppose being around a house-elf must be unnerving for someone that's never seen one before."

"It's alright," I say. "It's not your fault."

"I'll tell them to stay out of your sight if you'd prefer."

"That would probably be for the best, yeah."

I might wind up getting angry again if I see how they're being treated. Much as I dislike seeing intelligent beings mistreated, I'm a guest in this house, and one without a lot of power. I don't want to alienate my new friends already over something like this.

I don't think there's anything I should do about this at the moment. The situation is deplorable, but I don't have the standing or resources to really make an impact. As it is, my relationship with the Malfoys is tenuous at best. I'd like to cement my position in this world more before I try to make any big changes, I think.


	5. To Hogwarts

August passes, and it's time to travel to Hogwarts.

"Why do we need to go to a Muggle train station to go to school?" I wonder.

"I'm not entirely certain, but that's the way they do it these days," Lucius says. "Perhaps they don't want the sudden influx that merely using the Floo Network would induce."

As the Malfoys and I approach Platform Nine and Three Quarters, we spot a family of redheads whose children also appear to be bound for Hogwarts.

"Ugh, it's the Weasleys," Lucius mutters.

"Who are they?" I ask.

"A pack of blood traitors with more children than they can afford to even clothe properly."

"Blood traitors?"

"Muggle-lovers," Lucius explains. "They don't believe in keeping magical blood pure. And the father there, Arthur Weasley, is entirely too fascinated with the Muggle world for his own good."

"Oh. I see..." I say. "Why in the world would someone be fascinated by _Muggles?_ "

"I know, right?" Draco says.

Narcissa shows us how to get onto the platform, and Draco and I head through to get onto the bright red train. We pick an empty compartment and take a seat next to one another.

"So, even if a student lives up in Scotland, they still need to come down here to London and use this train like everyone else?" I ask.

"Yeah," Draco says. "That's the way it works."

"That just seems rather silly to me."

Soon enough, the train is loaded up with students and their baggage, and the journey gets underway. Well, as silly as it is, no help for it. I may as well just settle in and enjoy the ride.

"Heh," Draco says. "I bet if we jinx someone walking down the corridor, nobody will notice who did it. Dare you to trip that girl there."

I giggle. "Okay."

I cautiously poke my head out of the compartment and discretely pull out my wand, point it at the bushy-haired girl, and murmur the incantation under my breath. She's walking toward us, but not paying attention, seeming to be looking for something. Sure enough, she stumbles, but doesn't actually fall on her face as I'd hoped. I wouldn't have expected her to be very well coordinated, so I must not have put enough power into the spell, I suppose.

Then, however, she actually approaches our compartment and sticks her head inside. I carefully mask my expression to make myself appear neutral. She couldn't have noticed me cast that, could she?

"You should be more careful," Draco says. "You're awfully clumsy."

"I'm alright. Have either of you seen a toad? Neville's lost his."

"If I had a toad, I'd lose it, too," I say.

Ah, she was just looking for a missing pet. She didn't actually notice me jinx her.

Her eyes land upon my forehead, and widen a bit at seeing my scar. "You're Harry Potter! I'm Hermione Granger. I read all about you in _Hogwarts, A History._ "

"Well, I'd like to think that I'm more than merely _history_. I'm still only eleven years old. There's plenty of things I intend to do in my life, and plenty of years to do them in."

"Well, of course," Hermione says. "I'm sure you'll grow up to be a great and powerful wizard..."

"I've never heard of any wizarding family named 'Granger'," Draco says.

"I am the first in my family to be magical," Hermione says. "It was quite the surprise, really. I've been studying ever since I found out. I'm so afraid I'll be behind, with so many other students having been around magic all their lives!"

"Ah," Draco says. "A filthy Mudblood, then."

"A what?" Hermione looks confused.

"He means your parents are Muggles," I explain.

"Well, yes, they are, but I don't see how that makes my blood 'muddy'."

"I don't see why _your_ kind is even allowed to attend Hogwarts," Draco says. "It's not like you'll ever be a real witch, anyway."

"Now, Malfoy," I say. "It's not polite to rub their noses in our family trees. It's beneath us, really. Do we want to give our respective families the reputation of being mere bullies?"

Draco thinks about this for a moment, looking between me and Hermione dubiously. He's clearly torn between wanting to throw her out of the compartment and admitting that I have a point. Hermione comes in and sits down next to me, however. Draco looks like he wants to protest, but stays quiet.

"Is it really such a big deal that my parents are Muggles?" Hermione asks.

"To some people, yes, it is," I say. "Reality check for you. You're all excited about going to school, but people from old, pureblooded families like me and Malfoy here are often going to think less of you. That's just the way things go."

"But... why?" Hermione wonders.

"Classism," I say. "Don't tell me you haven't seen it in the Muggle world? Someone can trace their family line back to ancient nobility, or has more money than someone? Take my mother, for instance. She was believed to be descended from Muggles, but she was a very talented witch. Nobody realized at the time that her mother was actually a Squib rather than a Muggle. But so far as purebloods go, people like you and my mother are upstarts in the magical world and need to work twice as hard in order to prove themselves, and even then some people will never be convinced."

"Well, then I'll just have to prove myself!" Hermione says. "I'll work three times as hard and become the best witch in my class!"

"You don't get to be the best with just hard work," I say. "The best wizards don't exactly come out of _Hufflepuff_ , after all."

"Yeah," Draco says. "Some people are just born with it."

"So if I'm not, how can I be the best?" Hermione wonders.

"You need to be willing to do _anything_ for what you want," I say.

"Anything?" Hermione says, eyes widening.

"Anything," I say. "Think about it."

"I... I'll think about it," Hermione says dubiously. "I should go now..."

Hermione leaves the compartment again, looking very thoughtful. Draco stares at her as she goes, then turns to look oddly at me.

"What, exactly, were you trying to accomplish talking with that Mudblood like that?" Draco wonders.

"Call it an experiment," I say. "I just want to see what she does."

"You're very weird sometimes," Draco says. "She's a Mudblood. She'll never be as good as us."

"Of course not," I say. "But that doesn't mean she can't still be useful, given the proper impetus."

"Hmm," Draco says. "I never thought of it that way. That's pretty devious. I like it."

It's a delicate balance trying not to alienate Draco. I honestly don't _care_ whether someone is a Muggle-born or even a Muggle. It says a lot about a person's character how they treat those they perceive as their inferiors. But, while I can be proud of my own ancestry, there's more to a person's worth than merely their power or bloodline.

Soon enough, we arrive at Hogsmeade. We're herded off the train, and the first years are piled into boats to cross the lake. I have to wonder if there's any real point to this other than to impress the first years on the approach. Well, I suppose that's a good enough reason. The castle _is_ pretty impressive, I'll admit.

We're corralled into the entryway to wait for a few moments. We're going to be Sorted next, apparently.

"I hear you have to wrestle a troll!" says someone.

I roll my eyes at the fanciful rumors. As if they'd have untrained children do anything like that. We're lead through the doors into the Great Hall, and behold a beaten and battered old hat sitting on a stool at the front of the room. The Sorting Hat proceeds to sing a little song about Hogwarts and the four Houses. So we're relying on a _singing hat_ to direct us to our proper Houses? Well, I suppose I've seen stranger things... I'm having a hard time thinking of any off the top of my head, however.

The first years are called up to try on the hat one by one, in alphabetical order by surname. I watch intently as 'Granger, Hermione' goes to the front to try on the hat."

"I bet she gets Hufflepuff," Draco says.

"No bet," I say.

It takes the hat a bit longer with her than it had with the previous students. It hmms thoughtfully a good deal, and squirms up what passes for a 'face' in intense consideration, before finally announcing a proclamation.

"SLYTHERIN!"

" _What?_ " Draco cries.

I'm grinning broadly, chuckling a little, and looking quite satisfied as Hermione strides over to sit at the Slytherin table, a little nervous.

"A Mudblood in Slytherin?" Draco says incredulously. "Was this your intent?"

"An experiment, if you will indulge me," I say. "Besides, I've always wanted a pet Mudblood."

Draco looks at me strangely for a long moment, then laughs aloud. "Draco" "You... you are... you're horrible sometimes, you know that, Potter?"

'Malfoy, Draco' gets called up to be sorted. The hat puts him in Slytherin before it even manages to hit his head. Draco goes over to sit across from Hermione. I wait in the dwindling group of first years for 'Potter, Harry' to be called up. No matter how long I spend being Harry, it still feels weird to be called that.

I go up to the front and put the battered old hat on my head, ignoring the murmurs among the crowd at the 'famous Harry Potter' coming to their school. I hear its voice whispering in my mind. I didn't really expect my Occlumency shields to keep something like this out.

"You... are not Harry Potter."

"No, I'm not." I reply in my own mind as well, figuring that it will be able to hear me. That would be kind of the point, after all.

"We don't get many interdimensional travelers here," the hat whispers to me. "And certainly not ones imitating well-known individuals. Oh, you don't need to worry about me giving away your secrets. If I did that, I would have wound up stuffed with rocks and dumped into the lake at some point."

"That's good," I think.

"You are... more difficult to place than perhaps you realize," the hat tells me. "You demonstrate very strong traits of all four of the Houses."

"I thought it would be a foregone conclusion that I'd be in Slytherin," I comment.

"Not at all," the Sorting Hat says. "I imagine if the Founders were still alive, they'd argue intently over who got to train you. Well, except for Hufflepuff. She wasn't much into arguing. But she'd still want to teach you, too. Still, while it's worth considering that you don't always have to be in Slytherin, that seems to be where you wish to go. So let's send you off to SLYTHERIN!"

This last word is shouted aloud. I pull the hat off my head, grinning a little, and head over to the Slytherin table to sit next to Draco. If the crowd murmured in awe at seeing me, now they're murmuring in surprise at me being in Slytherin.

"I never would have thought to see a Mudblood in Slytherin," Draco says.

"Bah, it's not like she's the only one," says an older boy. "It's not very common, though."

"Besides, I don't think it's actually possible to have a 'Muggle-born' wizard, anyway," I comment. "She's probably descended from a Squib some pureblood family disowned generations ago."

Hermione, however, is strangely quiet, like she's not sure what she should be saying here. I can't really blame her. She's just had her life spun around this way and that recently. I'm a little surprised at how quickly she adjusts as it is.

"So, how'd that daft hat put you in Slytherin, anyway, Granger?" Draco asks.

"It... called me ambitious and clever, and eager to prove myself," Hermione replies.

"Is that so?" Draco says.

"You've a difficult road ahead of you," I say. "I hope you're up to the challenge. How badly do you want that shining star at the end?"

"I'm up to it," Hermione says.

"Good," I say. "And you're not alone. Stick with me, and anything could be possible."

The Sorting finishes up with 'Zabini, Blaise' joining the Slytherin table. Before the feast begins, Professor Dumbledore gets up to say a few very strange words and give an ominous-sounding warning about the third-floor corridor. And then the tables are suddenly filled with food. There's ham, potatoes, turkey, casserole, dishes I can't even identify at a glance. We don't hesitate to dig in and help ourselves to the feast.

"I wonder what's in that third-floor corridor?" Draco says.

"Would they keep something dangerous at the school?" Hermione asks.

"I'm sure Dumbledore was just exaggerating," Draco says.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," I say.

"Well, he does strike me as a little barmy," Draco says.

"Take nothing at face value," I say. "Accept nothing as it appears to be at first glance. Your eyes will deceive you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco asks.

"He means that Dumbledore is merely using the impression of eccentricity to obfuscate his intelligence," Hermione puts in.

Draco stares at her for a long moment in nigh disbelief. "What kind of an eleven year old uses words like 'obfuscate', anyway?"

"I'm almost twelve!" Hermione says.

" _I_ use words like 'obfuscate' too, you know," I point out.

"Oh, yeah, you _do_ do that from time to time, don't you," Draco says.

"But yes. My point is, if you judge things by what you see at first, those judgments may well turn out to be incorrect, and come back to bite you in the tail if you're not careful. If you judge Dumbledore as a crazy old coot, if you judge Hermione as a worthless Mudblood, if you judge _me_ as a heroic champion of the light... You may end up overlooking a potential danger, or a potential opportunity."

"I see..." Draco says thoughtfully. "I get what you're saying."

"Keep it in mind," I say. "And keep your eyes open. And your ears and nose, too. Realize whether you're smelling poison, or pecan pie."

"I think you're just hungry," puts in another boy.

* * *

If any of the teachers are particularly disappointed or disapproving of me being in Slytherin, they don't say so aloud in my hearing. The Slytherins, on the other hand, are for the most part keeping their distance from me. I think a lot of them are the children of former Death Eaters and are wary of what I might do, and befriending a Mudblood certainly didn't help matters any. But I'm not really concerned about that. I'd rather have a close circle of friends that I can trust absolutely, than a wide net of acquaintances who will backstab me the minute it's convenient for them.

We start in on our first week of classes. We have Transfigurations with Professor McGonagall. I'm very nearly late for my first class. I rush in at the last minute and take my seat. Thankfully, however, the professor isn't present yet. Then the cat on the desk at the front of the room jumps down to the floor and transforms into Professor McGonagall.

"Whoa, that's awesome!" I exclaim. "Can you teach me how to turn into a dragon?"

"While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I'm afraid you won't likely be ready for such an attempt for quite some time," McGonagall says. "Today, you will be transfiguring matchsticks into needles."

"Can you teach me how to turn into a dragon _later_? Please?"

"No promises, Mr. Potter." Professor McGonagall clears her throat and launches into the lesson, explaining the means by which to utilize one's magic to transfigure an object and alter its form and substance.

"You know, Potter, I had to wonder about you at first regarding Granger," Draco says later. "But then there was Transfigurations... She was the only one in the class who could even do the lesson! I'm starting to think you were right about her. If you had to drag a Mudblood into Slytherin, at least you picked a competent one."

"What can I say? I have an eye for these sorts of things."

We head into our first Potions class with Professor Snape. I'm less thrilled about the prospect of brewing potions than more direct forms of magic, but I suppose they have their uses.

"Put your wands away," Professor Snape says. "There will be no waving of wands or uttering of incantations in this class. But do not underestimate the power of potions. Here you will learn how to brew fame, bottle glory, and stopper death."

I wonder if he'll also teach us how to bake despair, distill rage, and mix up confusion.

"And I see our new celebrity is here, and in my house, no less," Snape says. "But is he worthy of being in Slytherin, I wonder? Tell me, Potter, if you can, what would result from adding powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Crap. I haven't studied anything for _this_ class yet. I didn't expect that he would give me a surprise quiz on the first day. Worse, I can feel him pricking at my Occlumency shields. He's trying to read my mind? Damn it, he's not finding out _my_ secrets. I shore up the walls around my mind and bury myself in a veritable fortress before answering him.

"I don't know, sir," I say. "Sorry."

"No?" Snape says. "Well, perhaps, then, you could tell me where one might find a bezoar."

"Afraid not, sir."

"How about the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"Not that, either," I say. "My apologies, sir."

"I see," Snape says. "How disappointing. For your information, asphodel and wormwood are used to create a powerful sleeping potion called the Draught of the Living Death. A bezoar is found in the stomach of a goat and can be used to cure many poisons. And wolfsbane and monkshood are the same plant, also known as aconite."

The part about the bezoar catches my attention, and I pull out my quill and scribble down the information, murmuring under my breath. "Bezoar... cure poison... stomach of goat... that'll be useful if I ever have to endure Thelsa's cooking again."

"Well?" Snape says, peering at the other students. "Why isn't anyone else writing this down?"

At least the rest of the class goes better after that. We're given instructions on how to brew a potion to cure boils. I pair up with Hermione for the class, which seems almost like cheating, but I don't care. I have to pity the redheaded Gryffindor named Ron Weasley, who got stuck paired up with Neville Longbottom, by far the most incompetent person in the class.

Potion work requires a good deal of precision and attention to detail. This honestly isn't my sort of magic at all. It's completely unintuitive, and I can't channel my willpower, intent, and emotions into it for a better result.

"Mr. Longbottom, you're supposed to take the cauldron off of the heat before adding the porcupine quills," Snape says. "You've ruined this potion. Five points from Gryffindor."

I glance over at Hermione as she carefully guides me through the steps required for the potion, and murmur to her quietly.

"This seems like an awfully complicated potion to be having us make already," I say quietly.

"This is nothing," Hermione says. "Some of the higher level potions require months to prepare and specific ingredients harvested at a particular time or taken in unique circumstances."

Hermione is good at this sort of thing. Despite my mediocrity, our potion comes together perfectly, and Professor Snape somewhat reluctantly gives us top marks for it.

* * *

Hagrid sent me a message inviting me to tea on Friday afternoon. I have no particular desire to associate with the giant anymore than I absolutely have to. I don't even give his message the dignity of a response. This won't make him particularly happy, but I'm not sure that I care.


	6. A Couple Deaths Between Friends

Gryffindor and Slytherin are together again toward the middle of September for our first flying lessons. We're to be learning how to fly on broomsticks. I have to look askance at these magical brooms. Why in the world would anyone want to fly on something like this? It looks uncomfortable and unpleasant.

"You ridden a broom much before, Potter?" Draco asks.

I shake my head. "Never. I can't imagine this will be very much fun, though..."

Madame Hooch comes before us to explain the basics and drill into us proper broom safety. I suspect that most of the students listening to her don't really care about the latter so much, however.

"Now, stand beside your broom, hold out your hand above it, and say 'Up!'"

"Up!" The broom obediently springs up into my hand a little unsteadily. At least I'm not the one having the worst with it. Some of the students are having to yell at their brooms several times before they get a response out of the things.

The lesson hasn't even gone on for five minutes before Neville Longbottom manages to crash his broom into the ground and break his arm. Madame Hooch orders us all onto the ground again and goes over to look at him.

"I'm going to take this young man to the hospital wing. None of you are to move until I return!" Madame Hooch says, and goes off with Neville.

Draco snatches something shiny off the ground and plays with it a bit. "Heh, look what I've got. It seems like Longbottom's lost his Remembrall. I bet he'll forget that he lost it, too."

"Trying for being a bully again, Malfoy?" I say.

"Hey!" Ron exclaims. "That's Neville's! You give that back, Malfoy!"

"If you want it, why don't you take it from me?" Draco says.

He lifts off into the air on his broom. Damn it, I won't be able to say anything if he gets too far into the air away from me.

"Malfoy!" I call. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Besides, Longbottom's as pureblooded as you are! So's Weasley, for that matter."

"But they're blood traitors..." Draco says.

"Give me that Remembrall now, Malfoy!" Ron cries.

Ron swoops in on his broom after Draco, who dodges and darts up into the air.

I don't have much confidence in my flying skills, but nonetheless I grab my broom and take to the air anyway. I point my broom in Draco's general direction and zoom after him. It's not like I'm _that_ bad with it. I can point a broom and manage to not fall off. But the sorts of acrobatics they do with it are beyond me.

"Harry?" Draco says. "Man, you're almost as bad as Neville."

"I am not!" I protest. "I haven't fallen off yet."

"Well, if you think you can play, too, then come on. Catch!"

Oh, he so did not just do that. The little shiny ball goes flying through the air. Ron tries to sweep in and grab it on the upward arc, but entirely misses. I keep my eyes on the ball as it starts coming down, trying to position myself beneath it to try to catch it.

Crunch! I entirely failed to notice I was too close to the castle wall. Pain. I think something's broken, and not just the broom. I go tumbling toward the ground. Gazing up at the clear blue sky. I'm going to die, aren't I? Well, I hope so. Recovering from all the broken bones I'm about to get would suck a lot more than a quick death.

I strike the ground at an odd angle. Mercifully, my neck snaps, and it's over.

* * *

I wake, and repeat the day's flying lessons, and the situation reiterates itself. Damn everything. I hate feeling helpless like this. I can't fly a broom well enough to chase them, and I don't even know any spells yet that could help defuse the situation. They're both going to wind up with detention at this rate."

"Malfoy!" I cry. " _Malfoy!_ "

This is foolish, and I'm not getting through to him. This is all just a stupid game to him.

"Weasley!" I say. "Let me handle this!"

"Why should I?" Ron says. "You're just another Slytherin! You'll stand behind Malfoy!"

"Fine then!" I say. "You can both get detention for all I care, if that's what you really want!"

Sure enough, Madame Hooch returns before too much longer, and looks furious when she sees the two boys chasing each other in the air.

"Boys! Down on the ground, this instant! I gave you specific instructions not to move! Detention for both of you!"

"Aw, man..." Draco says.

The two of them reluctantly descend and get off their brooms again. I mutter to Draco when he's at my side again.

"Will you hex me if I say 'I told you so'?"

"I just wanted to have some fun..." Draco says.

"Yeah, and you broke the number one rule of Slytherin: Don't get caught. Enjoy your detention with Weasley."

"What's a blood traitor?" Hermione asks.

"It's a pureblood that likes Muggles and Mudbloods... oh... crap... I'm an idiot, aren't I?"

"You said it, not me," I say.

"You... like me?" Hermione says.

"It's not like that!" Draco says. "You're just... useful to study with, because you're really smart!"

I have to laugh aloud at that. "Uh-huh, Malfoy. Sure. Whatever you say."

* * *

I think I ought to spend my spare time getting some studying done. There's always new things that can be learned, after all.

"It's good to see you're taking your studies seriously," Hermione says.

"The two of you are bent over books like a couple of Ravenclaws _again_?" Draco says. "How much studying do you really need to do?"

"I don't know every spell in existence yet, Malfoy," I say. "When I'm the most powerful wizard in the world... well, then I'll start inventing my own new spells to do what I want."

"Well, the two of you can have fun with that if you want," Draco says. "I'm going to go find some Gryffindors to jinx."

Draco heads off again, leaving me and Hermione to ourselves in the Slytherin common room.

* * *

Draco, horrified at the idea of being a blood traitor, tries to distance himself from Hermione, avoiding her and being rude toward her more than usual. Hermione, for her part, is frosty right back at him. It's making it almost unbearable to keep trying to be friends with both of them.

October passes, and Halloween arrives. The school is very excited about the celebrations and feast that will come in the evening. This isn't a holiday I've ever celebrated, or am even familiar with, but it seems like a fun one. I just wish that Hermione and Draco weren't avoiding each other to the point of sitting on opposite ends of the Slytherin table during breakfast.

In Charms this morning, Professor Flitwick actually gives us our first real spell to cast, rather than merely reading and discussing magical theory.

"Now, give your wands a swish and flick at the feather, and speak the words ' _Wingardium Leviosa',_ " Flitwick instructs.

Draco is struggling with getting the wand movements and incantation right. How can someone be so good with curses and fail at a simple charm like this? Oh, right, because I'm failing at it, too.

"You're not doing it right. Do it like this. _Wingardium Leviosa!_ " Hermione's feather gently lifts up into the air. Flitwick looks over to see her success and claps his hands together.

"Excellent job, Miss Granger!" Flitwick says. "Five points to Slytherin!"

"Bah, always showing off," Draco says. "Nobody likes an upstart Mudblood, Granger. It's no wonder you don't have any friends."

Tears in her eyes, Hermione gets up from her seat and darts for the door.

"Hermione, wait!" I cry. "Damn it, Malfoy, why'd you have to go and say something like that?"

"Well, it's true," Draco says. "She thinks she's better than all of us..."

"Yeah, because a lot of the time, she _is_."

"Mr. Malfoy, detention for you on Saturday," Flitwick says.

"And at the very least, you should know better than to call someone a Mudblood in front of a teacher," I say.

"Okay, yeah, that one _was_ pretty stupid," Draco says.

"I'm glad you agree, Mr. Malfoy," Flitwick says.

Classes for the day end, and the Halloween feast is on. If there's one thing I can always appreciate, it's food, and this looks like a more delectable selection than usual. And considering the usual is pretty damned good, that's saying something. However, Hermione is nowhere to be seen at the feast. I don't see her at the opposite end of the table from Draco as usual, or anywhere else in the Great Hall for that matter.

"Has anyone seen Granger?" I ask.

But no one knows where she is. I'm getting worried. She's probably off crying somewhere, but I didn't expect her to be _this_ hurt by Draco's comment.

Suddenly, Professor Quirrell storms into the Great Hall, looking panicked and about ready to faint. "Troll! In the dungeons! Thought you might like to know..." And then he actually does faint dead away.

"Everyone stay calm!" Dumbledore says. "Students will be led back to their respective common rooms for their safety. The staff will deal with this."

I slip in next to Draco as we start to be led out of the Great Hall. "But the troll is in the dungeon. The Slytherin common room is in the dungeon... What is Dumbledore thinking?"

"And what kind of a worthless Defense teacher is Quirrell if the best thing he could do at the prospect of a troll is run around in a panic and then faint?" Draco wonders.

I freeze in my steps, suddenly remembering something. Shit. Hermione's still missing. She doesn't know about the troll.

I don't care to try to convince Draco to help me. He's still in a snit at Hermione. Besides, it's probably safer where I'm going than down in the dungeon with the troll, anyway. I really shouldn't need his help for something like this.

Hmm, where might an upset twelve year old girl go to cry? Probably the bathroom, I imagine. I head off in search of the girl's restroom on the first floor.

I get a little lost along the way, as I can't quite remember where it is, seeing as I've never had to know where the little girl's room is before. If I ever get a sex change for whatever reason, that might be worth consideration.

Finally I locate the place, and I hear ominous crashing and roaring sounds coming from inside. Shit, the troll found its way here? This is bad. No help for it. Hermione's in there, and I'm not going to leave her alone with a troll! I charge inside, wand at the ready.

" _Fulgoris!_ " Electrical sparks fly toward the troll, but the spell doesn't seem to have much effect.

"Harry?" Hermione says.

"I'm here for you, Hermione! _Flipendo!_ "

This spell has absolutely no effect at all. The troll roars and swings its club at me, and I barely manage to dodge out of the way.

"Trolls are resistant to magic!" Hermione cries.

"Now you tell me!"

As I try to think of a spell that might be useful against the troll, the club comes around for another shot at me, and catches me square in the side this time. I hear a sickening crunch as half my ribs break, and possibly my spine. I slump to the ground in agony. Breathing is hard, and my vision is swimming.

"Harry! _Harry!_ "

The troll's next strike with its club crushes my skull, mercifully ending my pain.

* * *

I make a mental note not to try to take on trolls by myself. At least not without a hell of a lot more magical training.

"Wait a minute," I say to Draco instead. "Hermione's still missing."

"What do you want to do, run off to find her like some reckless Gryffindor?"

"Better than walking straight into the dungeon where the troll is supposed to be?"

"Ah, running away in the guise of helping someone," Draco says. "I can get behind that. Alright, let's go find the Mudblood, then."

The two of us slip away from the crowd before reaching the dungeons and go to locate where Hermione got off to.

"I bet she's crying in the girl's loo," I say. "And Malfoy, you really should at least _pretend_ to be her friend. Mudblood or no, she's dead useful when it comes to studying."

"Yeah, yeah..."

"What, still worried that somebody's going to think you're a blood traitor?"

Draco says, "... More what my dad will think than anything else."

"Ah," I say. "Still, it's not like you're planning on _marrying_ her, for crying out loud."

"Right."

We get turned around temporarily by the shifting staircases and the fact that neither of us can quite remember where the girl's loo on the first floor is, not being girls. Then, when we finally get to the correct corridor, to our horror, we hear smashing sounds coming from inside.

"Shit!" I cry. "The troll's in there!"

I go racing for the door, half expecting Draco to decide that this is a good moment to turn and run the other direction, but to my surprise, he manages to get there ahead of me. Sure enough, there's a twelve foot troll smashing the stalls with a giant club. I can hear screaming from the back, in Hermione's voice.

" _Flipendo!_ " Draco casts.

" _Fulgoris!_ " I cast.

Our spells have little to no effect upon the troll.

"Harry! Draco!" Hermione cries.

"We're here, Hermione!" Draco says. "We'll save you! _Causa Casus!_ "

"It's resistant to magic!" Hermione says.

I run forward, trying to get its attention away from Hermione and Draco. If all else fails here... I'm the one that can come back from the dead. Reckless bravery isn't quite so reckless knowing that, even if it might hurt a lot.

The troll turns and slams me into the bathroom wall. Ugh, yeah, that hurt. I think I heard ribs cracking. Pain shoots through my torso. My head swims. But Draco takes advantage of my distraction.

" _Wingardium Leviosa!_ " Draco casts.

I'm vaguely aware of the troll's club lifting into the air and dropping down to bonk it on the head, knocking it out cold. Hermione comes out of her stall and impulsively runs over to hug Draco.

"Draco!" Hermione says, running up to hug him.

"Hey now, get your filthy Mudblood hands off of me," Draco says. "It's not like this was my idea. Are you alright?" There's no venom in his words, and his genuine concern for her belays any harsh intent.

"I'm fine, thanks to you," Hermione says.

"Internal bleeding... broken ribs... I think _not_ dying hurts more than actually dying does..." I mutter.

The teachers choose that moment to arrive, and see the three of us standing (or slumping, as the case may be) around the unconscious mountain troll.

"What is the meaning of this?" Snape says. "Three first years chasing after a fully grown mountain troll? This is something I would have expected of young Gryffindors, not my Slytherins."

"I apologize, Professor Snape," Hermione says. "This is my fault. I wanted to test out my skill against the troll. Draco and Harry were concerned about me, and came to save me."

"She certainly couldn't have done worse than Quirrell..." I comment.

"Mr. Potter!" Quirrell snaps.

"Oh, you're here too?" I say. "Get over your fainting impulse already? Pardon me. My vision is a little cloudy and I think I might have a punctured lung."

"Get Mr. Potter to the hospital wing right away," McGonagall says. "Miss Granger, fifty points from Slytherin for your foolishness."

"Aw, man," Draco says.

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, however, fifty points to Slytherin each for your skill and courage in defending your friend," McGonagall says. "And sheer dumb luck."

"Not that we should encourage such displays in the future, however," Snape says. " _Mobilicorpus._ "

I feel myself lightly lifted into the air by Professor Snape's spell as he goes to drag me to the hospital wing.

"Thanks," I say. "I don't think I could walk on my own. Or remain conscious, for that matter."

"Your unconsciousness would bring the welcome blessing of a cessation of witty remarks from you."

I'm barely conscious and my vision is blurry, but I could swear Snape is limping. That's odd, he wasn't fighting the troll. No use trying to wonder about that now, however. I pass out.


	7. Electric Destiny

Hermione, Draco, and I are close friends after that. I suppose being through a life-threatening situation can do that to people. Thankfully, my injuries aren't severe enough to require more than a week in the hospital wing recovering. I make a snide mental note for the future that if I should ever do something so reckless again, I should just go all the way and get myself killed. I don't really mean it, of course. But the thought amuses me.

November passes, and Christmas is rapidly approaching. The school is excited about the prospect, especially since it'll mean a break from classes for the holidays. Christmas. Another holiday that I'm unfamiliar with and celebrating for the first time. For this particular holiday, gift-giving appears to be the tradition.

I'm going to need to get presents for all of my friends. And I don't want to take the easy way out and just get them all something disposable, like treats. And since I can't leave the school for the moment, I'm stuck with owl-ordering things, which limits my options. At least they offer catalogues that I can browse through for ideas.

Hermione might like a book, but that seems a little too obvious, plus I have no idea what she might already have or have read or not. Draco's not going to be an easy one to place, either. Nobody ever told me that coming up with gifts was so _difficult_. Maybe I should just relax a bit. I would, personally, be happy to get just about anything from my friends, even dirty socks, but then I don't really care all that much anyway.

A letter arrives by owl for Draco one morning. He opens it and reads it at the table, and his face immediately falls. "I'm staying at Hogwarts for Christmas."

"Something wrong?" I ask.

If he's staying, I'm probably staying too. I was kind of hoping to spend Christmas at Malfoy Manor again. It's not like I've anywhere else to go, anyway.

"They don't specify, but I can imagine," Draco says. "My father would want me to choose my friends more carefully. Ugh! They've practically disowned me for a blood traitor already!"

"Relax, Draco," I say. "No sense in jumping to conclusions. For all we know, they might just plan to throw a lot of wild parties and don't want an eleven year old getting underfoot."

Draco folds up the letter with a sigh and resumes eating. "You're probably right. It's probably nothing. No sense worrying about it, right? If they really disapproved of something I'm doing, you'd think they'd just tell me, or even send a Howler, right?"

"Yeah," I say. "Hermione, what are you doing for Christmas?"

"I'll be heading home to spend some time with my parents."

"I'll be sure to have Balthazar drop you a letter or two," I say.

"Will you be staying at school, too, Harry?" Draco asks. "Or were you planning to go back to visit your cousins in the States?"

"I'll be staying here, I think," I say.

Although the thought of dragging Draco home to meet my family amuses me to no end, it would cause way too many problems, even if the Nexus is safe again.

"You look like you're almost snickering," Draco says. "That bad?"

"You have no idea."

For one thing, I'd have a hell of a time explaining why the gravity is heavier, the sun is brighter, and why there are two moons. Not to mention why most of my family have pointed ears, for that matter.

"Were you exaggerating when you described them to my father?" Draco asks.

"Not at all," I say. "If anything, I left out a lot. But egad, I would rather have my great-grandmother, Hawthorne Chelseer, for a Defense teacher than someone like Quirrell."

"Maybe you could get her to come next year," Draco suggests. "Couldn't be worse than anyone else that's taught in the position recently, from what I've heard."

"No kidding," an older boy puts in. "I'm a sixth year. And you know what that means? Six different horrible teachers. I'd be ecstatic if there were someone competent around for my NEWTs."

"So what's this Hawthorne Chelseer like?" Draco asks.

"Pureblood, for one thing," I say. "And I mean the sort that's been marrying second cousins for as long as anyone can remember, and not just the sort that pretends the Muggles in their family tree aren't there. And enough of a stubborn, crazy _bitch_ that she told the family to go screw themselves when they tried to arrange a marriage for her, too. Produced a pureblood heir just to keep up the family line, then went off to marry a Muggle of all things. So far as competence with magic goes, however, she knows more ways to kill someone than I can even count. She only ever lost one duel, and that was to this crazy Dark wizard called Sedder."

I shudder involuntarily at the thought of him.

"You've met this Sedder I take it?" Draco asks.

"I'm honestly more scared of him than of the Dark Lord," I say. "At least with Sedder, I _remember_ encountering him."

"Why do you call him the Dark Lord, Harry?" Hermione wonders. "It makes it sound like you support him."

"Because 'You-Know-Who' sounds stupid and 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' sounds pretentious."

Christmas holidays arrive, and students head home to be with their families. Of all of Slytherin, only Draco and I are left behind. It feels a little lonely, but also exciting.

"Just think, it'll almost be like having the whole castle to ourselves!" I say.

"Yeah, but there's still the teachers," Draco says. "And that obnoxious Squib, Filch. That'll kind of put a damper on any fun we might have with it."

Christmas morning arrives, and there are presents piled up in the Slytherin common room for Draco and I from family and friends. Draco's fears of being disowned melt a bit upon seeing the gifts that his parents sent him.

"Look!" Draco says. "My father sent me a new trunk!"

"You got luggage for Christmas?"

I look over a little dubiously, until Draco shows me all the neat things his new trunk can do. Hidden, magically sealed compartments, extra space to store all manner of things, and even a built-in shrinking and unshrinking charm.

"I have _got_ to get me one of those," I say.

Draco is suitably cheered and mollified by my jealous expression.

"Gah, what did I do to get a present from Neville Longbottom?" I wonder.

"Probably because you went and gave him back his Remembrall after Weasley and I got detention for playing with it, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," I say. "Gah, and how does that deserve getting Bernie Bott's Every Flavor Beans? I hate those things!"

"Heh. It's the thought that counts, I guess?"

I pull out an anonymous gift and open it up, revealing a slick, silvery substance that practically pours out.

"Whoa!" Draco says. "Who sent you the invisibility cloak?"

"There's a note. 'This cloak was given into my keeping by your father many years ago. I now return it to you with my blessings. Use it well.' Huh, who might that be? Your father?"

"No way," Draco says. "James Potter was in Gryffindor and younger than him. Maybe somebody else who knew your father but wants to remain nameless for some reason?"

"I guess," I say. "Still, this thing could be dead useful for sneaking around without getting caught."

It couldn't have been Dumbledore, could it? He knows perfectly well that I'm not actually James Potter's son. But that might just have been to keep up appearances and he was trying to be helpful.

"Hmm, Hermione sent me a book, big shock there," Draco says. "What's _Pride and Prejudice_?"

"I have no idea," I say. "What'd you get her?"

"A book on wizarding culture and etiquette."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate that," I say.

"Yeah, and then maybe it won't be so embarrassing to be seen in public with her," Draco says.

"Ah, and here's my obligatory book from Hermione," I say. " _One Thousand and One Defensive Charms_? Well, that sounds more useful than a year worth of Quirrell, that's for sure."

"And what'd you send her?" Draco asks.

"A bobcat," I reply.

"What?"

"Just kidding," I say. "Actually, I sent her a regular cat. Or at least one that's part Kneazle."

"Why'd you do that?" Draco wonders.

"Well, she didn't have a pet, and I'm inherently paranoid and figured it might come in handy at some point."

"Here's one from me, Harry."

" _Quidditch Through the Ages_? Thanks, Draco." I'm still not really interested in Quidditch, but I appreciate the gesture. Plus, I'm hardly one to turn down an opportunity to learn something, anything. Maybe I should have been in Ravenclaw after all.

"And you got me... what is this, exactly?" Draco wonders, holding up his present and peering at it.

"A magic utility belt apparently modeled after Batman," I explain.

"Batman?"

"A fictional character in Muggle comic books, apparently," I say. "A guy who dressed up like a bat and defeated all sorts of weird enemies despite not having any super powers."

"Muggles are strange..."

"You're telling me," I say. "He's popular with American wizards, for some reason. I suppose it's the novelty of having a badass Muggle running around beating up wizards and monsters. But, anyway, the belt seemed useful. It comes with all sorts of handy tools and has lots of little places to put things."

"A grappling hook?" Draco says. "When am I ever going to need a grappling hook?"

"You never know."

"But it does include a place for a wand, and these pouches could certainly be useful, I suppose. Thanks, Harry."

The Malfoys and some other people I don't know very well also sent me some token gestures of edible things. I don't really mind, though. The chocolate frogs amuse me, if nothing else.

That evening, I decide to try out my new old invisibility cloak and go exploring the school.

I first sneak off to check out the right-hand corridor on the third floor, out of morbid curiosity. I don't get very far with that, however. I'm blocked by a simple locked door. Well, damn. There's got to be an unlocking spell somewhere, but I don't know what it is yet. I leave the door alone for the moment, making a mental note to look it up or at least just ask Hermione. If I can think of a way to ask her that won't sound overly suspicious.

After some more poking around, I come upon an empty classroom with a large, ornate mirror standing off to one side. Curiously, I go over to approach and take a look at it.

In the mirror, I see myself standing tall, an adult, strong and proud. Crackling with blue lightning, waves of energy practically rolling off of me, even my eyes are glowing. I'm the most powerful mage in the multiverse. Worlds of magical knowledge are at my command. I can do anything at a whim. I have full command of space and time.

What is this? Does this mirror show my inner self, my potential, or the future? I don't know, but nonetheless I find it kind of creepy even as I find it utterly fascinating. I don't stay long before heading off to go explore more of the school.

I'm still curious about it, however, and the next day, I goad Draco into coming with me to take a look.

"Come on, I want you to see this," I say. "We can both fit under the cloak. We're not going to get caught."

"Alright, alright, but this better be good."

We get back to the mirror and I stand in front of it, looks at my slightly creepily disturbing almighty self.

"You see it?" I say. "It makes me look like some sort of god."

"Huh?" Draco says in confusion. "I don't see anything like that."

"Well, you get in front of it and tell me what you see, then."

"Alright... huh," Draco says. "I see my family standing around me, smiling at me approvingly. And Hermione is beside me..."

"Weird," I say. "Why would it show us different things?"

"I don't know," Draco says. "Maybe it shows the future or something?"

"Well, anyway, we should probably get back, then."

"It won't hurt to stay and look a bit longer, would it?" Draco asks.

"I suppose not... but just five more minutes, or I'll think it's hexed you like one of those books that makes you unable to stop reading it or something."

It turns out to be another fifteen minutes before I can drag Draco away from the mirror again. I resolve not to bring him back there no matter what if I can possibly help it. I return again to the mirror the day after that, not to stare at myself, but to examine it closely and figure out how it works and what it does. As I'm doing so, I hear a voice behind me.

"Back again, Harry?"

"Oh, hello, Dumbledore. Was it you who gave me this cloak?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore says. "Regardless of your circumstances, I believed it would be useful."

"Well, thanks for that, then."

"Do you know what this mirror is showing you?" Dumbledore asks.

"No, and I'm trying to figure that out."

"This is the Mirror of Erised," Dumbledore says. "Better men than you have wasted away gazing into its surface with longing."

"That's silly," I say. "Personally, I find what it shows me to be a little creepy, and I'm trying to figure out how it works."

"It shows your heart's deepest desires, my boy."

"Okay, that just creeps me out even more."

"You find your desires to be disturbing?" Dumbledore raises an eyebrow.

"You want to know what I see in there?" I say. "I see myself looking like some sort of all-powerful god-like being. At least I'm not standing on a pile of corpses or have a throne of skulls or anything like that."

"I see," Dumbledore says. "Well, there are worse desires to have, certainly. Power, in and of itself, is not a bad thing. It all depends on what one must do in order to obtain it, and what one chooses to do with it."

"I suppose you're right," I say. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did anything too reprehensible to get to that point..."

"Indeed," Dumbledore says. "You might have a streak of cunning and ambition -- you wouldn't have been Sorted into Slytherin otherwise, after all -- but you're still an inherently good person. I daresay that you might be able to do a fair bit to salvage the reputation of that House, if you keep things up."

"Perhaps so."

"The Mirror of Erised, however, will be moved to a more secure location after tonight."

"Do you mind if I come back and examine it again sometime once I learn how to analyze the enchantments on items?"

Dumbledore chuckles. "Arrangements might be made in the future if you are still interested in learning about magical artifacts, perhaps."

"Thanks, Headmaster. I suppose I should head back to my dormitory now."

"That you should."

* * *

"Harry, are you sure you didn't send Hermione a bobcat for Christmas?" Draco says.

Hermione seems very pleased about her new pet, a large orange cat that she's named Crookshanks.

"Well, the cat _is_ a little larger than I had expected... but no, that isn't a bobcat," I say.

In April, I receive a message from Hagrid inviting me over to his hut. I'm normally not inclined to want to spend more time around the giant than necessary, but he promises that he has something totally cool that he wants me to see. In not so many words.

I really don't care to associate with Hagrid in the best of times. I have little doubt that anything he thinks is totally awesome would be a complete waste of time. I have better things to be doing with my time. Like studying for History of Magic and memorizing dates of Goblin Rebellions. A few weeks pass and I forget all about the invitation.

"Hey, Harry, did you hear?" Draco says. "Hagrid's hut burned down. He was trying to raise a dragon! In a little wooden hut!"

I blink for a few moments. Is that what Hagrid was on about? A dragon? Damn, in that case, I kind of regret not taking him up on his invitation. Dragons are awesome! Although, trying to raise one in a small wooden hut is definitely around the intellect level I expect from the giant.

"Did he die?" I ask.

"Sadly, no," Draco says. "He'll be stuck in the hospital wing for a while, though, and the dragon's being sent off to Romania, apparently."

"That's a pity," I say. "I'm a firm believer in stupidity following its natural course. Ah, well."

"No kidding."

* * *

Exams are approaching, and with them, school will soon be out for the summer. It's been a good year, all in all. Pretty quiet for the most part, aside from that little troll incident back on Halloween. I'm glad for a chance to relax and learn what I can before I need to even think about trying to take on any Dark wizards.

I wonder where I should stay for the summer. I'd really rather not go freeloading at the Malfoys, or have to stay at the Hog's Head. Maybe I should look into whatever properties the Potter family might own. I might not actually be related to them, but I'm the closest thing to an heir that they have at the moment.

After exams are over, Professor Quirrell goes missing. I suppose he didn't care to stick around for the end-of-year celebrations. I don't think much of it. After doing a little investigating, I located a place that belongs to the Potter family, and make arrangements to move in and live there over the summer. It's not a huge place, but it should be comfortable.

I send Dobby along ahead to clean up the place, as it hasn't been touched in decades. I return to London via the Hogwarts Express, and from there, I Floo over to my new home.

I stumble out into my new living room. Then I see him. Sitting in front of me. A man in black robes with a snake-like face. How did he get in here? The protections on this place must not be good enough.

"Who--?" I start.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

Green light strikes me in the chest.

What just happened?

I'm dead and I don't even know why.


	8. Doing Things Differently

There's no need to go visit Petunia and Vernon when I already know what their reaction is going to be. Useless and annoying. I think I'll just cut to the chase and get things set up in the most expedient way possible.

I go up to the Nexus. I don't actually need Keolah to calibrate it for me since I've already been there myself. I just give her a brief wave and step into the circle of runes. I focus upon the image of my destination, and after a moment, the mists send me far, far away.

The village is as quaint and peaceful this morning as ever. I head over to the Hog's Head, expecting to see Albus and Aberforth inside, talking, like they were before, but it's just Aberforth at the moment, doing some cleaning. I must be too early.

"Hey there, lad," Aberforth says. "Sorry, we're closed at the moment, and I'm expecting a friend to drop by at any moment."

"Actually, I was hoping to speak with Albus."

He gives me an odd look and sets aside the broom, and approaches me to look me over. "What, you're on a first name basis with Headmaster Dumbledore, _and_ you knew it was him who was coming?"

At that moment, there's a rustling sound from the fireplace. The flames turn green, and Albus steps out into the room. I let down my Occlumency shields to make sure he can read me and trust what I'm saying.

"Good morning, Aberforth... what's this?"

He comes over and takes a good look at me as well, frowning thoughtfully. Before even saying another word, Albus pulls out his wand and utters a spell to prevent eavesdropping.

"No, I'm not Harry Potter. I'm actually his second cousin, Lexen Chelseer."

"I wondered, for a moment," Dumbledore says. "Your hair is covering up where the scar would be. But you do look much like I imagine he would at your age."

"Yeah, I figured as much," I say. "I heard about what happened to him."

"Word of that has gotten out after all?" Dumbledore says in surprise.

"No," I assure him. "Don't worry about that. Your secret is still safe. The means by which I found out aren't exactly available to most people."

"Ah. I see. I understand."

I still find myself a little nervous about this, in spite of myself. But they need a Harry Potter, and this is the best way to insert myself into this world smoothly.

"You don't want to have to explain to the world that the Boy Who Lived died on your watch. So if you'll let me, I'll take his place. I'll be your Harry Potter. I'll face down your Dark Lord for you, if need be."

"You have spirit, boy, but are you sure you're up to the task?" Albus says.

"No, but if I don't do it, who will? Harry would be starting school this year, and if he doesn't show up, people are going to start wondering, won't they."

"You are right, and I can't argue with that," Dumbledore says. "Very well. You can take Harry's place. No one else must know that you're not actually Harry Potter."

"That's some plan you've got cooked up there, but I should point out that he doesn't have the scar," Aberforth says.

"I'll take care of that," Dumbledore says. "Lexen, please hold still. This is going to hurt."

"I figured," I say. "It's alright. Go ahead."

I brace myself as Albus hits me with an agonizing curse. I clench my teeth and endure the pain, resisting the urge to cry out or double over under the torment.

"He took that without so much as a whimper?" Aberforth says. "Blimey, who is this boy?"

"He is more than he appears to be, Aberforth," Dumbledore says. "Please get something to clean him up with."

I wonder just how much Albus read from my mind. But it's alright. If I can't trust him, who in this world can I trust? After Aberforth wipes away the blood from my burning forehead, Albus steps closer and examines his handiwork.

"This will be close enough," Dumbledore says. "I have other arrangements I will need to take care of. Aberforth, can you look after him in the meantime?"

"I suppose," Aberforth says. "So much for the visit, eh?"

"Another time," Dumbledore says. "Farewell."

* * *

Hagrid takes me to Diagon Alley.

I go collect the various books and supplies for school, knowing perfectly well that I won't find anything too interesting in the main shops. Then I head for the tailor to get fitted for my new robes. Draco Malfoy is there being measured at the moment.

I make friends with Draco again, and we head for Ollivander's to get our wands.

"I don't think this is really the best way to do this," I comment upon seeing things flying all over. "I bet I can find perfect wands for us right away."

"I've been doing it this way for longer than you've been alive, but if you think you can find the right wand yourself, you can feel free to try."

"Hmm, let's see..." I say.

I go over to the shelves and look through them, not even bothering to touch most of the wands. Aha, there it is! I recognize my own wand in an instant, and snatch it up. As expected, it lets off a cascade of green sparks.

"So you _did_ manage to find a good match already," Ollivander says. "Pine and dragon heartstring, twelve inches."

Let's see, what was Draco's wand again? Hawthorn and unicorn hair, I believe. There, that one looks like the right one. I grab that box and offer it to Draco.

"Here, Malfoy, try this one."

Draco looks at me a little dubiously, but picks up the wand in question and tries it out. Sure enough, yellow sparks go flying out of the end of the wand as it accepts him as its master.

"How did you do that?" Draco says.

"Heh. Magic."

It feels good to have my own wand back again.

* * *

It feels a little strange to be celebrating someone else's eleventh birthday, especially when I'm technically older than eleven now, chronologically speaking at least.

"A raven!" I have to smile broadly at Hagrid's present. I'm glad to see Balthazar again.

I head over to the Malfoys for a much better party. Dinner was prepared and served by some house-elves scurrying around and doing their best to stay out of sight.

I peruse the book Draco gave me thoughtfully. I already know most of this stuff, but a refresher is never bad, and I might run across something interesting that hadn't really caught my eye before.

"Do you need a test subject?" Draco says, and I repress a wince at what happened last time.

He calls Dobby in again, terrifying the poor house-elf. I grow angry anew at the needless mistreatment of loyal and obedient house-elves, and zap Draco. This time, however, I'm feeling less meek and cautious. I'm not going to hold back again.

"Oh, it appears I have a reflex to electrocute people when I'm angry." I glare daggers at Draco, and then look over toward Dobby, who has started beating himself again. "And seeing house-elves beat themselves up for no good reason makes me angry. So I think that'll help me get over my reluctance, you know. Tell you what. Whenever Dobby hurts himself, I'm going to cast a jinx on you. If anyone else hurts Dobby, I'm going to cast a hex on you."

"Why are you getting so protective of house-elves?" Draco wonders. "They're not people! You can't treat them like people!"

"Who said anything about treating them like people?" I ask. "It's just that needlessly mistreating your inferiors makes me angry. And when I'm angry, I want to _hurt someone_."

Dobby whimpers pathetically and starts hitting his head on the nearest wall instead.

I pin my glare on Draco and point my wand at him meaningfully, and utter an incantation. " _Fulgoris!_ " A shock of electricity erupts from the tip of my wand and strikes Draco, leaving him twitching uncontrollably for a few moments.

"Gah! What are you doing?" Draco demands. "Oh, I guess that _was_ in the book after all."

Upon seeing that, Dobby proceeds to hit his head against the foot of the bed.

I grin sadistically and spout off another spell. " _Pogontrophus!_ " Draco rapidly begins to grow facial hair, sprouting a thick, tangled beard in seconds. Dobby wails and pounds his head into the floor. I have to laugh, wondering if he's doing this intentionally. I ready my wand for another spell, but Draco calls out first.

"Dobby! Stop!" Draco shouts. "I forbid you from punishing yourself!"

Dobby stops beating himself and straightens, looking over at Draco with enormous eyes. "Yes, Young Master. Dobby not hurt himself anymore."

"Alright, Potter, you've made your bloody point. Now reverse this!"

The beard is still there, hanging halfway down Draco's chest. I go to try to find the counter-jinx to remove it again. However, when I attempt to cast it, all of Draco's hair falls out instead.

"Argh! Blast it, Potter!"

"Oops," I say. "Um. Let's just consider that the third jinx I owe you and call it even..."

"I'm going to get back at you for this."

"Sure, go right ahead," I say.

Draco pulls out his wand and aims it directly at me without hesitation. " _Frigipes!_ " Suddenly, my feet become very cold, and I glance down to see them encased in a thin layer of ice. They're not quite frozen to the floor, but with a more solid casting I would have been unable to move.

"Ah, that's a good one, Malfoy," I say. "I'll have to remember that one."

"And you can just stay here while I go find my father."

I watch the bald boy exit the room, leaving me alone with the house-elf.

Dobby looks up at me in undisguised admiration, almost worship. "Dobby likes Master Potter. Nobody ever stuck up for Dobby before."

"Dobby, do house-elves really enjoy serving wizards so much?"

"Most of us do... some masters kinder than others. Dobby not... say anything bad about masters. But... you punish Young Master if they punish me? This... this make Dobby happy."

To think that this poor, conflicted creature can actually manage to express discontent despite his circumstances. How many generations of slavery and brainwashing have these house-elves endured to get to their current state? It sickens and disgusts me to think that people would stamp out the free will of other intelligent beings like this, even if they _are_ kind of ugly. This will require... delicate consideration. You can't just go in and declare slaves free and expect that to be it.

"Dobby, how would you like to serve _me_ instead of the Malfoys?"

Dobby instantly brightens and looks up at me wide-eyed. "You would do that for Dobby?"

"Absolutely," I say.

Draco returns shortly, with a full head of hair again, and Lucius right behind him. The ice on my feet is already melting, but I haven't bothered moving yet anyway. It's not like I have anywhere I care to go just at the moment.

"If you're going to practice jinxes on one another, you really ought to learn to cast the proper counter-jinx correctly," Lucius says.

He waves his wand and cancels the spell on my feet, which grow warmer and the ice vanishes without a trace.

"Point taken," I say.

"And what is this about the house-elves?" Lucius wondered. "Draco was babbling something about you jinxing him whenever Dobby hurt himself."

"That's right," I say.

"You say you would cheerfully murder people, and yet you care about the well-being of house-elves?"

"I just don't understand why you would keep servants and force them to punish themselves even when they've done nothing wrong. It seems to me like it would be preferable to have servants who love you than who hate you. If they hate you, even if they can't disobey you, they're likely to find any loophole they can in your orders."

"You may have a point, but I would prefer if you did not lecture me on how I treat my servants."

"Very well," I say. "How much?"

"What?" Lucius said, looking at me in confusion.

"I wish to negotiate for the purchase of this house-elf," I say.

Dobby clings to my leg in a gesture of pure love.

Lucius narrows his eyes at me suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because house-elves seem very useful, I'm inherently lazy when it comes to mundane tasks, and I don't exactly intend to live here forever. I'll consider it an investment for the future."

Lucius seems a bit surprised at my answer, and his look softens a bit. "Shrewd of you. Very well. One thousand Galleons."

I have no idea how much house-elves are really worth, but at least I have a general idea on the comparative values on things, from looking at the prices of things in Diagon Alley if nothing else. But it would look bad to take the first offer.

"Five hundred."

"Eight hundred, no less."

"Deal," I say. "I'll have the sum transfered from my vault."

"Very well," Lucius says. "Oh, and Potter? Don't complain about how I treat my servants in the future."

"Of course."

I can't really expect Lucius to willingly part with _all_ of his house-elves. One small step at a time. At least I've made the life of one house-elf better.

* * *

Once again, Hagrid sent me a message inviting me to tea on Friday afternoon. I don't really care to spend time around him, but I see no need to alienate him, either. I send him a reply politely declining his invitation, citing that I'm quite busy studying for my classes. I'm sure he'll understand.


	9. A Dragon Year

When Draco grabs Neville's Remembrall at our first flying lesson this time, I decide to play along instead.

I laugh. "Good on you, Malfoy. It's not doing him any good anyway."

"Hey, give that back!" Ron protests.

"You want it?" Draco says. "Come take it from me!"

Draco takes to the air on his broom, and Ron Weasley shoots up after him. I wisely decide to remain on the ground and just watch the show from here. Damn, Draco is good. Ron isn't terrible either, but he doesn't hold a candle to Draco. Whizzing by, he tosses the little ball to me, and I barely catch it. Ron swoops in after it.

"Throw it to me, Harry!" Draco says.

I throw the Remembrall with all my strength into the air, aiming for a spot in front of Draco where he can catch it. Well, my aim is none too great, and the gleaming ball flies up into the sky in a wide arc. If he actually makes the catch, I'll be impressed.

The ball sails through the air, and Ron attempts to grab at it and fails. Draco, on the other hand, goes into a rapid dive and then snatches it out of the air like nothing. He grins broadly, holding the shiny ball triumphantly.

"Malfoy catches the Snitch!" Draco says. "One hundred and fifty points to Slytherin!"

"Oh, you're just showing off now..." Ron says.

Draco returns to the ground, and moments after, Madam Hooch comes back out of the castle, followed by Professor Snape.

"You're in trouble now, Malfoy," Ron says.

Draco goes off with Snape, and the rest of us return to the lesson. He meets up with us again afterward, far more excited than one would expect someone who just got in trouble.

"I'm going to be on the House Quidditch team!" Draco exclaims. "I'll be playing Seeker starting this year! The youngest in a century!"

"That's quite the reward for someone who was just breaking rules and being a bully, don't you think?" Hermione comments.

"Ah, come on, Hermione, we were just having a little fun," I say.

"At someone else's expense!" Hermione protests.

"They're Gryffindors and blood traitors anyway," Draco says.

"What's a blood traitor?" Hermione asks.

"It's a pureblood who likes Muggles and Mudbloods..." He gives a critical look toward Hermione, as if remembering that he's supposed to be hating her on principle.

"Hmph," Hermione says. "You're such a bully sometimes. _And_ you're prejudiced. Why am I friends with you again?"

"We're not friends!" Draco says.

"Well, fine then." She storms off in a huff.

Ron Weasley approaches the two of us, looking quite miffed.

"What, Weasley, did you hear about the good news already?" Draco says.

"What good news, that you've been through out of the school?"

"Heh," Draco says. "Well, in that case, I'll just leave it as a surprise, then."

"You wouldn't be half so brave if you didn't have Harry Potter at your back all the time!"

"Oh, come now, Weasley," Draco says. "I'll take you anytime on my own. How about a little wizard's duel tonight, then? Midnight, in the trophy room?"

"You're on."

The hours tick away, and night falls.

"So you ready for the duel with Ron Weasley tonight?" I ask.

"What?" Draco says. "No, of course not. I'm just going to tell Filch on him and get him in trouble."

I shrug, rolling my eyes. "Not much of an honorable duel, but suit yourself."

* * *

Another Christmas comes.

Neville didn't send me a present this time. I'm not sure I'm particularly sorry about that.

* * *

In April, I receive a message from Hagrid, and I remember missing out on his dragon last time. Not this time, though.

"Hagrid wants to show me something he thinks is awesome. Draco, Hermione, you care to go with me?"

"I have my doubts on what Hagrid thinks is awesome. Why should I?"

"So you can restrain me from starting a fistfight with a giant if this is something stupid," I say. "At least remind me to use my wand."

"I'm just going to blithely assume that you're joking about that prospect," Hermione says.

So the three of us head over across the grounds to Hagrid's hut to see just what it is that he's so excited about. As it turns out, the hut is stifling warm inside and there's a large, roundish object that Hagrid appears to be babying.

"Harry!" Hagrid says. "I'm glad you can your friends came. Check this out! It's a dragon egg!"

"A dragon egg?" I say. "This is totally awesome!"

"I agree," Draco says.

"I hate to put a damper on things, but Hagrid, you live in a tiny wooden hut!" Hermione points out. "Not to mention the legality of the issue and the potential trouble you could get into for this... Not to mention the fact that the best thing you could apparently figure out to do with it is warm it up and then brag about it to three first year students whom you barely know."

"Much as I hate to admit it, but Hermione does have a point," Draco says.

"But... but... dragons are awesome!" I say.

"And I do agree, but he obviously can't keep it here," Draco says. "I mean, look at this place."

"This wasn't quite the response I was hoping for," Hagrid says.

"Well, what _were_ you planning on doing once it hatches?" Draco asks.

"I'd keep him in the Forbidden Forest!" Hagrid says.

"Right, what's one more dangerous creature?" Draco says. "Nobody would even notice, right?"

"I think that's a great idea!" I say.

"At least one of you has faith in me," Hagrid says.

"Well, this is totally against the rules _and_ probably illegal," Hermione says. "I think we should just tell Professor Dumbledore and see what he has to say about it."

"Aw, come on, Hermione," I say. "It's a dragon!"

"Precisely," Hermione says. "It's a dangerous magical beast that could cause no end of damage around here."

"But I could help raise it!" I say.

"In the Forbidden Forest?" Draco says.

"Sure, why not?" I say.

"Sometimes I wonder if you shouldn't have been in Gryffindor," Draco says.

"What about when I'm drooling all over some new and exciting bit of knowledge?"

"Then I think you should have been in Ravenclaw."

"But under no circumstances should I ever have been in Hufflepuff."

"I'll give you that," Draco says.

"Boys?" Hermione says. "What are going to do regarding Hagrid's illicit dragon egg?"

"I think this is all a terrible idea and that both Harry and Hagrid have an unhealthy fascination with dangerous creatures," Draco says.

"I do not... Just dragons," I say.

"Fine, just dragons," Draco says. "Which are, by the way, awesome, and if you really want to do this, I'm not going to be the one to snitch on you. That's what friends are for, after all. Covering up for each other when one of them insists on doing something really dumb."

"Thanks, Draco. I knew I could count on you."

"But..." Hermione says. "Oh, fine, so long as you don't do anything so foolhardy as trying to raise a large fire-breathing creature inside of a small wooden hut, I won't say anything."

"Woo! Thanks, Hermione. I knew I could probably count on you."

"Probably?" Hermione says.

"Well, you do have a terrible streak of common sense sometimes, but you can usually be convinced to do the interesting thing instead, given enough badgering or sufficient quantities of long words."

"You know, I think I'd be more offended if you didn't have a point," Hermione says. "So, Hagrid, what were you planning on naming it?"

A few weeks later, Norbert hatches and sees his new home in the Forbidden Forest, and his 'mother'. Who he promptly tries to take a bite out of.

"Vicious little thing, aren't you?" Hagrid says. "Isn't he adorable?"

"Are you sure it's a he, Hagrid?" Draco says.

"Er... I don't know how to check."

"I've heard the females are more aggressive," Draco says.

The little dragon attempts to nip Hagrid's hand again.

"Hmm," Hagrid says. "Well, maybe it's Norberta, in that case."

"I brought steaks!" I say. "Here you go, you badass little tyke."

The dragon hatchling calms down a little after getting something to gnaw on. I reach over to stroke the baby dragon affectionately.

"I think she believes Lexen is her mother rather than Hagrid," Hermione says.

Norberta rubs up against me lovingly after finishing her meal.

"You know, I have to agree," Draco says. "I've never heard of a dragon being so instinctually nice to a wizard like that."

"She probably just recognizes me as a distant cousin."

"What do you mean?" Draco says.

"Oh, according to legend, the Chelseers are related to dragons," I say. "One of them apparently mated with a dragon, somehow, a thousand years ago. Don't ask, I don't really get it myself, I just assume Transfiguration was involved somehow. Not that there's any real proof of that legend besides an affinity for dragons and unusually potent blood. It's kind of like claiming that Salazar Slytherin's mother screwed a snake or something."

"Harry, that's... disgusting," Hermione says.

"And really disturbing, honestly," Draco says. "Let's just go with the mysterious magical affinity thing."

I start sneaking out of the castle to spend every possible opportunity around Norberta, with the help of my not-father's invisibility cloak. I'm sure this was not the purpose Dumbledore intended it to be used for when he gave it to me.

"You _so_ have a crush," Draco says.

"I do not," I say.

Of course, at that rate, my suspicious behavior is bound to get noticed sooner or later, and I barely make it till May before Filch catches me and gives me detention for sneaking into the Forbidden Forest.

* * *

"Aw, man, you got detention?" Draco says.

"I regret nothing," I say.

I think I'm almost thankful when I hear that my detention is going to be with Hagrid. And that while I was caught sneaking out, nobody else knows about the dragon yet.

"Good to see you, Harry," Hagrid says. "Wish it were under better circumstances. We're going to be heading into the Forbidden Forest."

"Wait," I say. "As punishment for sneaking into the Forbidden Forest, you're sending me back into the Forbidden Forest?"

"Dumbledore wants me to investigate reports of something killing the unicorns."

I blink. "... It wasn't a baby dragon, was it?"

"No," Hagrid says. "Don't you worry none about that. This is something else, I think."

Hagrid, his dog, and I head into the forest. We run across some drops of silvery goo on the ground, and Hagrid stops to bend down and take a closer look at it.

"That's what I was afraid of," Hagrid says. "Unicorn blood. We need to find the unicorn that's hurt."

I have to wonder why a first year is being sent along on this, but I have to think that it's because it's me, and there's something important that Dumbledore wants me to see here. Otherwise, I'd have to think the teachers are insane. As we search through the forest for the injured unicorn, we come upon a centaur who prances out of the trees in front of us.

"Hello, Ronan," Hagrid says.

"Mars is bright tonight," says the centaur.

"Um..." I say. "The dog barks at midnight?"

The centaur stares at me blankly, and then after a few awkward moments, trots off into the forest again.

"I said something wrong, didn't I."

"Don't try to get a straight answer out of a centaur," Hagrid says. "They're more interested in what's up in the sky than the ground beneath their feet. Or hooves, as the case may be."

There's a rustling in the underbrush, and Hagrid turns to look in alarm as a little baby dragon pops out and scurries up to me. I'm not alarmed at all, myself. I think I could sense her coming.

"Well, having one more along won't hurt, just don't be seen out of the forest," Hagrid says.

"Norberta's more careful than that," I say.

"Harry, she's just a baby. She doesn't really know better yet."

A bit further on, and Norberta stops and makes a hissing sound. I come to a halt and glance down at her with a frown, then peer ahead toward where she's looking.

"There's something out there..." I say.

Cautiously, we approach the next clearing. Laying in a pile of leaves, there's a pristine white unicorn. I can't tell if it's still alive or not. But there's also the presence of something more malevolent. Something dark is here, and it was feeding on the unicorn's blood until it heard us coming. It's dark. I can't get a good look at it. Even if there's anything to see but shadow anyway.

It turns to look directly at us, and approaches swiftly. No time to be panicking. I whip out my wand in a flash and point it toward the sinister being, and shout off the first spell that comes to mind.

" _Fulgoris!_ " The electric sparks that fly toward the creature give it pause. And I think it must think twice when it hears the baby dragon snarling aggressively at anything that might threaten her 'mother'.

The dark thing gives up its prey in favor of slipping away unscathed. As it escapes, a bit of light silhouettes it, and I think that it looks like a human shape with a face on the back of its head. What an odd thing. I shake the thought from my head for the moment and approach the body of the unicorn to see if there's anything that might still be able to be done for the poor thing."

"It's too late, Harry. The unicorn is dead."

"Who would do such a thing?" I wonder. "And why?"

Another centaur chooses that moment to appear out of the foliage and approach us I brace myself for a bout of cryptic and unhelpful phrases.

"Firenze?" Hagrid says. "Did you get a closer look at the thing that did this, by chance?"

"I did not, I'm afraid," the centaur replies.

"Why would anyone want to kill a unicorn?" I say.

"Their blood can sustain you, even if you are mere inches from death," Firenze says. "But it will be a cursed half-life from the moment the blood crosses your lips, because you slew something pure and innocent to save yourself."

"So someone would only do something like that if they were very desperate and immoral," I say.

"Indeed so," Firenze agrees.

"We should head back," Hagrid says. "We got what we came for. Pity we couldn't do more."

We turn to head back out of the forest again, and part ways with Norberta at the edge of the trees. I paranoidly glance around to make sure that nobody notices her.

"Hey," I say. " _That_ centaur gave a straight and clear answer."

"Well, Firenze is a bit of an odd centaur."

I return to the Slytherin common room to tell Hermione and Draco what happened out in the Forbidden Forest this evening.

"That was no mere detention," Draco comments.

"No kidding," I say. "Do you think the Dark Lord is somehow keeping himself alive with unicorn blood?"

"That makes no sense, though," Hermione says. "If that were true, there would have been reports of dead unicorns for the last ten years, wouldn't there?"

"Hmm. You have a point," I say. "So what in the world is really going on? I didn't get a good look at the thing that did this, but I could swear it looked like a man with a face on the back of his head, of all things. I've never heard of such a thing, myself."

"I haven't run across mention of anything like that," Hermione says. "But I really don't like the sounds of this."

I realize that I really don't like not knowing what's going on. Worse that I didn't even know there was something sinister going on. The school year is almost over, and how long has this been happening? Those poor unicorns.

The end of the year rapidly approaches, with me growing increasingly worried about a sinister man with two faces drinking unicorn blood to sustain himself. If it's not the Dark Lord responsible for this, it's something else equally malevolent. How did I get through the year so blissfully ignorant as to what was going on under my very nose? And then Dumbledore leaves the castle for a while for some business elsewhere that I'm not entirely clear on.

"I don't know..." I say. "I just have a bad feeling about this."

I feel like there's something important that I should be doing, but I honestly have no idea what.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Hermione says. "Are you ready for exams?"

"I think so," I say. "But I'd best brush up on my Goblin Rebellions dates just to be sure."

That evening at dinner, Professor Dumbledore has returned and steps up to make an announcement in the Great Hall.

"I regret to inform you that Professor Quirrell is missing," Dumbledore says. "Doubtless this is the doing of the curse upon the Defense Against the Dark Arts position."

"Don't think this will get you out of doing the exams, however. Professor Snape will be administering the Defense Against the Dark Arts exams in addition to the ones for Potions."

"I wonder what happened to Quirrell?" I say.

"Maybe he got eaten by that weird thing you saw out in the forest," Draco suggests.

"Heh. Maybe," I say. "I'm guessing that he fell victim to his own incompetence, myself."

I glance up toward the staff table, where Dumbledore is now speaking quietly with the teachers. From here, I think he looks very grave and worried. I wouldn't have guessed that he'd care so much what happened to Quirrell.

Completely undeterred by my previous detention, I head out again tonight to the Forbidden Forest, with a couple steaks tucked under my robes. Perhaps I should be more concerned about the danger.

Norberta finds me quickly as usual once inside, no doubt smelling kin and food, so I pull off my invisibility cloak and toss the meat over to her.

"There's a good girl," I say. "How you doing, Norberta? Hope you haven't been too lonely lately. Sorry, I've been busy studying. Exams are coming up. But I'll be sure to find some way to keep visiting you during the summer."

Norberta meeps cheerfully at me and finishes gulping down dinner. Then, she suddenly turns to look off into the darkness and starts snarling and hissing threateningly.

"What is it, girl? Is something out there?"

I'm reminded of the creature that was killing the unicorns, and how she reacted to that. I turn to reach for my invisibility cloak.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

There's a flash of green light.

I don't even have a moment to wonder what I did wrong.

Dead in the blink of an eye.


	10. Uncovering Mysteries

I think that I never want to hear the words 'Avada Kedavra' again. I'm clearly doing something wrong. I need to figure out why I'm dying, and what's really going on at Hogwarts.

* * *

As always, Hagrid sent me a message inviting me to tea in the first week of classes. I'm not certain that I really wish to see him, but it might be useful to cultivate a relationship with him, for information if nothing else.

"Where are you going, Potter?" Draco asks.

"Hagrid invited me to tea," I say. "Care to come along?"

"No. No. Hell no. I can't believe you're voluntarily going there, either."

I shrug. I don't really think it'll be that horrible a thing to endure for the sake of relations.

"I'll go along with you," Hermione says.

"Happy to have you along," I say. "I didn't really want to brave the prospect of Hagrid's cooking alone."

"You're very weird," Draco says. "The two of you have fun, or something. I'm staying right here."

Hermione and I head out to Hagrid's hut out on the grounds. It's not a very big building, considering the size of the man who lives there, and I have to wonder how he has room to even move around.

"Harry!" Hagrid roars. "I'm so glad you came. And who's your friend?"

"Hagrid, this here is Hermione Granger. She's the brightest witch in my class."

Hagrid serves us up some tea and rock cakes. The tea is perfectly fine at least, but the cakes live up to their name in all the wrong ways. After spending a couple minutes attempting to eat mine, I finally give up and set it aside.

"So you made Slytherin, did you?" Hagrid says. "They've got a nasty reputation for producing Dark wizards and witches, but I'm sure a fine, upstanding young man like you will turn that around, won't you?"

"It's not like I'm planning to join up with the Dark Lord who killed my parents or anything."

"Of course not," Hagrid says. "So how are your classes going?"

"Well enough," I say. "Starting to get the hang of things."

As Hermione starts to regale Hagrid with a detailed description, I notice a piece of paper on the table underneath the teapot. It looks like an article cut out from a newspaper. I read over the article. It discusses investigations into a break-in at the Gringotts bank on the thirty-first of July. Wait, wasn't that the same day that Hagrid and I went there? Nothing was stolen, however. Apparently, the vault had been emptied earlier on the same day, but the goblins refused to tell the newspaper reporters what had been in it. Someone was after the mysterious important package that Hagrid took from the vault?

"So, Hagrid, what _was_ in that vault, anyway?" I ask.

"Have another rock cake, Harry."

Way to evade the question, Hagrid. Now, after reading that article, I _know_ this is something important.

"What vault?" Hermione asks.

I pass the newspaper article off to her to read. "We visited that vault on my birthday, and Hagrid removed a package from it, but wouldn't say what was in it. I didn't ask him anything about it at the time, however."

Hermione reads over the article, and Hagrid refuses to meet my eyes.

"More tea, Harry?"

I sigh softly. I think it's time to put my charisma to use and see if I can pry some information out of Hagrid.

"Certainly, I'd love some," I say. "And I'll take another of your delicious rock cakes as well. Thank you for keeping this newspaper clipping to show me. I don't read the _Daily Prophet_ , so I wouldn't have known about it otherwise."

"Ah, you're welcome," Hagrid says. "I'm glad you like the rock cakes. Made them myself, you see."

Well, they aren't too horrible if I soften them up with a bit of hot tea, but I don't think that was the intention. Hermione is making a bit of a face, but decides to keep her mouth shut for the moment.

"So are break-ins at Gringotts common around here?" I ask.

"It's hardly ever happened," Hagrid says. "There's all sorts of protections on the place to keep out anyone that's not supposed to be there. I hear they even keep dragons to guard the lower levels. I wish I had a dragon."

"Dragons?" I say. "Oh, yeah, that would be awesome. You like dragons too, Hagrid?"

"Oh, yeah. Magnificent creatures, dragons are. Perhaps the greatest of all magical beasts, and that's saying something considering some creatures are pretty great themselves."

"But dragons are dangerous," Hermione says. "And breeding them has been outlawed since the Warlock's Convention of 1709."

"I know, I know," Hagrid says. "But they're such misunderstood creatures!"

"I agree," I say. "Dragons are the best. It's a pity, really. They just need people who can deal with them properly."

"Exactly," Hagrid agrees.

Hermione and I thank Hagrid for the tea, and he insists on giving us some more rock cakes to take with us as well, and we leave the hut."

"He's hiding something," I say.

"That much is obvious," Hermione says. "But the question is, what was in that vault at Gringotts?"

"And why would someone want to steal it?" I wonder. "It's obviously more than mere gold or treasure..."

* * *

I decide to go pay a visit to Albus Dumbledore. There's a number of things I'd like to ask him, such as what that object Hagrid got from that vault in Gringotts. Whether or not Hagrid would be willing to tell me anything, it might work better to just go over his head. It takes me a bit to locate the Headmaster's office. It's guarded by a hideous stone gargoyle, sitting there seeming expectantly.

"Excuse me. This is Harry Potter. I'd like to speak with Professor Dumbledore, if he's in and not too busy at the moment."

I stand there quietly for a few moments, wondering if anyone actually heard me or is going to reply, but then the door opens up and permits me entry.

"Thank you," I say.

I step inside and climb a flight of circular stairs, and enter the Headmaster's office. Paintings line the walls, most of which are either asleep or at least pretending to be.

"Ah, Harry, so good of you to visit me," Dumbledore says. "Sherbet lemon?"

"Ah, yes, thank you." I take the proffered sweet and pop it in my mouth. I wonder at him calling me 'Harry' even in private, but considering the paintings, we clearly aren't really in private. And I suppose it's just as well to stay in the habit.

"So have you settled in well enough?" Dumbledore asks. "The Slytherin students aren't giving you too much of a hard time?"

"Oh, things are going pretty well, I'd say. Some of them aren't too happy with me, but that's to be expected, I suppose."

"I have to admit that I was a little concerned at first when the Sorting Hat decided to place you in Slytherin," Dumbledore says.

"I'm ambitious and cunning, I suppose. What can I say?"

"Well, I hope you can provide a good example to them," Dumbledore says. "Ambition can be dangerous when taken to extremes, but there's nothing inherently evil about it."

"I've been trying to get Draco Malfoy to be less of a prat, though I don't know how well I'm succeeding at that," I say. "And there's Hermione Granger -- as a Muggleborn in Slytherin, she needs all the support she can get."

"It sounds like you've got your work cut out for you," Dumbledore says.

"Professor, there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"What is it, Harry?"

"When Hagrid took me to Diagon Alley, he retrieved a package from a vault in Gringotts, and all he'd say about it was that it was an errand for you. And then later that same day, that very vault was broken into, only for the perpetrators to find it empty. So, what was it that was so important?"

Dumbledore looks at me with a twinkle in his eye, and I frown a little, wondering if I'm not pushing the boundaries of privacy here. "It's nothing that you should concern yourself with, young Harry."

"Just because I'm young doesn't mean I'm incompetent or stupid."

"No, you certainly are not."

"So if this has anything to do with the Dark Lord you want me to defeat, I'd appreciate it if you'd not keep me in the dark," I say. "No pun intended."

"As I said, there's no need to worry," Dumbledore says. "There's noplace safer than Hogwarts."

"I hope you're right, if you're keeping something that the Dark Lord would want at a school full of children."

"Trust me, Harry. I have full confidence in the precautions that have been taken."

"Very well." I'll give him the benefit of the doubt, for the moment. There's no reason to think, after all, that Dumbledore doesn't know what he's doing, I suppose. I'm not sure I'm entirely convinced of that, however, given my sudden deaths at the end of the school year.

* * *

"So, Draco, ready for your duel with Ron tonight?" I ask.

"Of course not. I was just going to tell Filch on him instead."

I look at him dubiously, and I think the disgust in my eyes is obvious as he twitches a little under my gaze. "You know, that's one thing when you're getting someone in trouble for their own foolish ideas. But to goad someone into an honorable duel and then turn them in rather than show up yourself? Dishonorable."

"I never claimed to be honorable..." Draco says.

"Keep this up and Granger won't be the only one you alienate here, Malfoy," I warn.

"Alright, alright, you've made your point, Potter," Draco says, rolling his eyes. "But if we get caught, I'm blaming it on you."

"I can live with that."

The two of us slip out of our dormitory at half past eleven, and quietly make our way down to the Slytherin common room.

"Where are you going?" Hermione confronts us. "It's past curfew!"

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Granger," Draco says.

"We've got a wizard's duel with Ron Weasley at midnight in the trophy room," I explain.

"Are you crazy?" Hermione says. "You'll be in trouble if you get caught! You'll lose Slytherin a lot of points!"

"I _know!_ " Draco says. "I was just going to turn them in to Filch and get _them_ in trouble instead, but Harry insisted on doing the 'honorable' thing and actually meeting Weasley for the duel."

"I'll take full responsibility if anything goes wrong," I say.

"I'm going, too," Hermione says.

"Nobody asked you, Granger," Draco says.

"Somebody needs to watch your backs and keep you boys out of trouble," Hermione says.

"Fine, if you insist on tagging along, you can watch for Filch, then," Draco says.

"Fine, I'll do that," Hermione says.

At one point, Hermione warns us about Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, approaching, and we duck into an empty classroom until it's safe. We continue on, and make it to the trophy room. Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom are already there, although they don't look to have been waiting long.

"You brought Longbottom?" Draco says, laughing. "Of all the people you could have chosen as your second, you brought _him?_ "

"Neville's my friend!" Ron says. "Don't you dare talk down to him!"

"Well, your loyalty is admirable, at least..." I say.

Draco adds, "... even if he's practically a Squib and can barely cast a spell correctly on the best of days."

They don't even get a chance to start the duel before Hermione comes up from her position keeping watch at the door. "Filch is coming!"

"Let's hide!" I say.

The five of us scurry toward the far door as quietly as possible.

"Hmm, is someone in here somewhere?" says Filch. "I know I heard something... Go find them, Mrs. Norris. Sniff them out, They must be hiding nearby."

I almost think that we're going to get away with this, until Neville manages to knock over a suit of armor. There's a clatter loud enough to wake the entire castle as one suit after another goes tumbling to the ground.

"Damn it, Longbottom!" Draco hisses.

"Run!" I say.

They don't need anymore encouragement. We hightail it out of there, paying little attention to which direction we're going beyond 'away from Filch'. Darting down this corridor and that, down a passageway and around a corner -- and straight into a locked door.

"It's locked!" Draco says. "A dead end."

"Step aside!" Hermione says, pulling out her wand. " _Alohomora!_ "

The lock opens with a click. We yank the door open and pile inside, closing it behind us and panting a little.

"That was close... he won't think to look for us in here," Draco says.

"Wait... isn't this the corridor Dumbledore warned us about at the start of the term?" Ron says.

"Crap, you're right..." Neville says.

The five us turn around slowly and eerily almost in unison to see just what is in the corridor behind us that has made the place forbidden on pains of a horrible death. The corridor is occupied by a gigantic hound with three heads, all of them snarling and slavering. It doesn't take long before the surprised three-headed dog realizes we're there and we're not supposed to be there.

"Detention or death?" I say.

"I'll take detention!" Draco says.

Draco pulls open the door again, and we pile out and slam the door behind us again. Personally, I'd usually prefer death, but I'll grant that the others can't come back from the dead like I do.

"I don't hear Filch anymore," Ron says.

"I guess we lost him," I say. "Let's just get back to our dorms and call it good..."

The others don't care to argue with that sentiment. We part ways with the Gryffindors at the nearest staircase and head back down to the dungeons. We finally breathe easily when we make it back to the Slytherin common room.

"That was a close one," Draco says.

"That was insane!" Hermione says. "We could have all been killed, or worse, expelled!"

"Oh, relax, Granger," Draco says. "It's not like they're going to expel us for something like that. You practically have to commit murder before they'll throw you out of Hogwarts."

"I'll take your word on that," Hermione says. "Did either of you see what that dog was standing on?"

"I wasn't really looking at its _feet_ ," Draco says.

"It looked like it was guarding a trapdoor!" Hermione says.

"I'd give points to Hermione for her attention to detail even in a life-threatening situation," I say.

"Why would it be guarding a trapdoor?" Draco says. "What could they possibly be keeping at Hogwarts?"

"It must be something important, whatever it is," I say.

* * *

Hagrid certainly seemed to like his booze back at the Leaky Cauldron. Maybe, with some luck, he's a talkative drunk. Hmm, but how to acquire enough alcohol to do the job? They certainly don't serve anything particularly potent to students.

"Hey, Malfoy," I say. "Do you know where I could get my hands on some booze?"

"What, planning a party, Potter?"

"No, I want to get Hagrid drunk and then poke him to see if I can get him to spill any information he's not supposed to tell."

Draco looks at me for a few moments and then laughs aloud. "Well, I suppose the big oaf has to be useful for something. Hmm, first years aren't allowed to go out to Hogsmeade. And besides that the first Hogsmeade weekend isn't for a while yet, and I doubt any of the older students would agree to smuggle in enough firewhiskey to get a half-giant drunk. Assuming they could even manage it."

"Could you get a house-elf to do it, maybe?" I wonder.

"What, not so opposed to slavery when it's convenient?"

"I'm lazy and hypocritical," I say.

"Well, so long as you're honest about it," Draco says. "Hmm, the Hogwarts house-elves probably wouldn't do it."

"Dobby might, though."

I call in Dobby to get the ball rolling. The house-elf cheerfully appears, ready for my orders. "What can Dobby do for Master Harry?"

"Dobby, I'd like you to acquire enough alcohol to get a half-giant drunk, and deliver it to Hagrid's hut."

"Yes, Master Harry. Dobby will be sure to bring lots of firewhiskey!" Dobby vanishes with a soft pop to get started on his new task.

I head out to Hagrid's hut in the late afternoon after classes. It looks like he's already started in on his 'gift'. I knock on the door to his hut.

Hagrid opens the door and peers out suspiciously, and relaxes slightly upon seeing me. "Ah, it's just you, Harry. Come on in. Er, don't mind the mess."

Dobby certainly went all out in making his deliveries. There's enough firewhiskey in here to drown a dragon.

"What's all this?"

"Oh, I think a house-elf delivered this to me by mistake, and wouldn't take no for an answer. Well, who am I to complain?"

"Well, mind if I have a butterbeer, then?" I ask.

"Sure, go ahead," Hagrid says. "Don't touch the firewhiskey, though. That stuff's way too strong for a first year."

I grab a bit of the butterbeer that Dobby must have mistakenly brought in, and settle in to drink with Hagrid. I keep the conversation neutral and pleasant for the moment, indulging in his love for magical creatures, and watching him get more and more drunk. Then, when I reason he's had enough alcohol to loosen his tongue but not enough to become completely incoherent, I start steering the conversation toward the package he got from Gringotts.

"So, does Dumbledore send you on errands often?"

"I do lots of stuff for Dumbledore," Hagrid replies. "He's a great man, and I'm glad that I can help him out however I can."

"Like taking me to Diagon Alley for my school shopping, and picking up that package from Gringotts?"

"Yeah, stuff like that," Hagrid says. "Stuff that doesn't require a lot of magic. I'm not normally allowed to do magic, you know."

"Why not?"

"Got expelled in my third year," Hagrid says. "Wand snapped and everything."

"Well, that sucks," I say. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Hagrid insists. "Girl died that year, and I got blamed for unleashing a basilisk on the school. Wasn't me, though, I swear."

"I believe you, Hagrid. It's alright."

"Was a beautiful wand, too. Sixteen inches, oak. I put the pieces of it in my umbrella, but I had to promise not to use it. Doesn't work very well anymore, sadly."

"So what did Dumbledore do with the item you retrieved from Gringotts after you brought it back to him?"

"Oh, don't you worry," Hagrid says. "The Philosopher's Stone is well-guarded. You-Know-Who's followers will never be able to get at it now."

The Philosopher's Stone? I wonder what that might be. There. That's the bit of information I came for.

"That's reassuring," I say. "I would hate for the Dark Lord to get his hands on it."

I make a bit more small talk so that he hopefully forgets all about inadvertently mentioning that to me.

"I'd best be getting back to my dormitory now," I say. "It's getting close to curfew."

"Ah. Alright, James," Hagrid says. "Go along now. Drop in anytime you like."

I leave the hut and quickly make my way back to the Slytherin common room.

* * *

Christmas comes once more.

Hagrid sent me a flute, along with a message about music soothing many magical beasts, such as one 'Fluffy'. I'm not sure what this 'Fluffy' might be, but knowing Hagrid and his penchant for dangerous creatures, it's probably something that would rip your face off, given the chance.

* * *

In April, Hagrid calls us in to show off his dragon egg again. As much as I loved Norberta, I fear that having her around may have somehow led to my death last time.

"I hate to say this, but as awesome as dragons are and all, we really shouldn't keep it around," I say.

"What, not you too?" Hagrid says.

"Sorry, Hagrid," I say. "None of us are experts on dragons or anything, you know. And even if we didn't wind up getting caught, there's the very real possibility of the dragon severely hurting one of us, or worse, one of the other students."

"Yeah... if that dragon wound up killing a student... you'd probably be sent away to Azkaban for the rest of your life," Draco says.

"Alright, alright, I see your point."

"And I'm glad to see you've all seen reason," Hermione says.

"We really should just tell Dumbledore," I say. "He'll know what to do."

"Where did you even get a dragon egg, anyway?" Hermione asks.

"Won it in a game of cards down at the Hog's Head," Hagrid says.

"I never understood the appeal of games of chance," I say. "Or gambling, for that matter. Moreso, gambling very valuable objects."

"I'm just afraid Dumbledore will fire me... Dumbledore's a great man, a great man, very generous, and it's been awfully good of him to hire me on and let me stay here at Hogwarts."

"I'm sure he won't, Hagrid," I say. "Relax. The worst he'll do is advise you to lay off the drinking and gambling. But he strikes me as a very forgiving sort, especially if you approach him about it rather than trying to keep it a secret and having it inadvertently be discovered."

"Yeah, you have a point," Hagrid says. "Alright, alright... I really wanted to raise a dragon, though..."

"Perhaps another time, Hagrid."

We notify Dumbledore, who makes the necessary arrangements to send the dragon off. The egg hatches, and one Charlie Weasley arrives to take the little one away to Romania.I feel a little sad about this, but it's probably for the best.

* * *

Exams are approaching, but I have other things to worry about, especially when Dumbledore leaves the castle temporarily on unspecified business. If someone were going to attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone, this would be the perfect time to pull it off.

I pull out my invisibility cloak and approach Draco and Hermione. This might be dangerous, but I'm going to want them along. I don't know what I'm going to meet, and while I might be able to do this by myself, overconfidence kills.

"Draco. Hermione. I need your help with something."

"You aren't planning on doing something Gryffindor-ish, are you?"

"Maybe..."

"What's going on?" Hermione says.

"The Philosopher's Stone is being hidden at Hogwarts," I explain. "And that corridor on the third floor is being guarded by a three-headed hound. And Dumbledore is currently out of the castle. If someone's going to try to steal it, now would be the time to do it."

"You may have a point there... but shouldn't we just inform a teacher of our suspicions?" Hermione says.

"Yeah, if there's really somebody going to break into this place, what are three first-years going to do about it?" Draco says.

"Steal it for ourselves instead?" I suggest.

"Heh. Very good. Very Slytherin," Draco says. "It sounds too dangerous for me, though. I'm not about to snitch on you, though."

"I think this is a terrible idea and we should just tell an adult," Hermione says.

"Don't you want a chance to study it?" I say.

"Yes, but we could get in huge trouble for this, too."

"You don't plan to tell on him, do you?" Draco says.

Hermione sighs reluctantly and shakes her head. No, I'll keep my mouth shut. Don't worry about that. Good luck.

I head out by myself. Not how I might have prefered things, but I'll make do with what I've got. I don't bother with the invisibility cloak yet, but I'm bringing it along just in case.

When I get to the third-floor corridor, I find that Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom are already here.

"What are you doing here?" Ron wonders.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," I say.

"Snape is going to try to break in and steal whatever's being kept here!" Ron says.

I stare at him incredulously for a few moments. "Why in the world would Professor Snape do something like that? He's a teacher, and has been for a while. You'd think if he were evil, Professor Dumbledore would have noticed by now."

"He was trying to break in on Halloween!" Ron says. "Did you see him limping afterward? And it wasn't because he fought that troll, because you lot took care of that!"

"I noticed, but I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for that."

"I'm sure," Ron says dubiously.

"Anyway, arguing about who the culprit might be won't get us anywhere," I say. "I'm going in. Come along if you really want to."

"No way," Ron says. "For all I know, it could be you that wants to steal it, or Snape sent you to do it for him."

"No kidding," Neville says. "How do you really expect us to trust you? We'll stop you if we can!"

"Do you really want to fight me?" I say, narrowing my eyes at him. When they show no signs of backing down, I sigh and disable both of them with quick spells.

" _Alohomora._ " The door clicks and I open it and step inside.

The three-headed hound waits before me, slavering.

" _Fulgoris!_ " Electricity strikes the three-headed hound, but all that does is piss it off. The monster comes barreling straight for me.

The vicious three-headed hound is upon me in a moment. Slavering jaws snap at me and lock down upon me. Bones crunch under the pressure. Thankfully, I don't last long.

* * *

I remember Hagrid's words about music being able to soothe many vicious monsters, and decide to give it a shot. I pull out the flute Hagrid gave me for Christmas and play a few notes on it. I'm pretty terrible at it. The dog quickly falls asleep, and I jump through the trapdoor.

I land with a whump as my fall is broken by some sort of large plant. Unfortunately, the plant is already surrounding me in vines to hold us in place and trying to strangle me. I have no idea what this plant is or how to fight it.

A snake-like tendril works its way around my neck, gripping me tightly. I can't breathe. This is embarrassing. I'm being killed by a plant. I slowly suffocate to death.


	11. The Power of Friendship

I think I need to face the fact that there's no way I will be able to get through to the Stone by myself. I decide to start over from the beginning again, and this time, try to cultivate friendships as I go. Even with Ron and Neville. I take the fact that I receive Every-Flavor Beans from Neville at Christmas again as evidence that I'm succeeding.

* * *

Exams are approaching, but I'm not the least bit worried about them, given how many times I've been through first year. The Philosopher's Stone is the only thing that matters now.

I pull out my invisibility cloak and approach Draco and Hermione. Hopefully I've gained their loyalty enough that they will assist me this time. I explain to them the situation.

"Perhaps we could steal it for ourselves instead," I say.

Draco thinks about that for a moment, and then laughs. "That's good," Draco says. "Very Slytherin. Here I was starting to worry you'd turned Gryffindor on me."

"Well..." Hermione says. "I'll admit that I'm curious about this myself... and it would no doubt be interesting to study..."

The three of us head out of the common room and make our way up. When we reach the third-floor corridor, we discover that Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom arrived just ahead of us. Ron rants about thinking Snape was after the Stone again, and how he was injured on Halloween.

"Maybe he tripped and fell down a staircase," Hermione says.

"Anyway, arguing it won't get us anywhere," I say. "We're going in. You're welcome to come along."

"Alright," Ron says. "But I'm keeping my eye on Malfoy."

"Me, too," Neville says.

Our unlikely five-man band approaches the locked door to the forbidden corridor.

"I'll open it," Hermione says. " _Alohomora._ " The door opens with a click and we step inside.

The three-headed dog stands waiting for us, snarling.

"How are we supposed to get past this monster?" Neville says.

I didn't receive the flute from Hagrid this year, so I open my mouth and start to sing the first thing that comes to mind. "Oh the rowing clown of Halladan, he rowed and rowed and rowed, from the slopes of Greenhorn Mountain, to the shores of Twisted Lode..."

Thankfully the giant dog isn't a music critic. It listens to me for a minute, and drifts off right to sleep.

"Harry, that's horrible," Draco says.

"Try not to subject me to your lack of musical talent in the future..." Ron says.

I keep the music going until we've all dropped through the trapdoor, just in case.

Once through the trapdoor, we landed on something soft.

"Good thing this plant was here to break our fall," Ron says.

Unfortunately, the plant is already trying to strangle us.

"It's a Devil's Snare!" Neville says. "Don't struggle!" Neville might be useless as a wizard, but he certainly knows plants.

"How do we kill it?" Draco says.

"It likes things to be damp and dark," Neville says. "The light's slowing it down a bit, but it's not enough. We're going to need brighter light -- or fire!"

" _Incendio!_ " Draco casts.

The Devil's Snare loosens its grip on us, curling away from the flames. One by one, we free ourselves from the plant.

Further down the corridor, there's a large room with a tall ceiling. High above, fluttering wings move about. Nothing appears to be attacking at the moment, however, and nothing blocks the path to the far door.

"It's locked," Hermione says. " _Alohomora._ Hmm, didn't work." There's no effect upon the door. Perhaps it's magically sealed to prevent that spell from working or something.

I frown, turning to look up at the cloud of winged objects glittering overhead. "Are those... winged keys?"

"I think you're right," Ron says. "We'll probably need a key to match the door -- a large, fancy silver one."

There's broomsticks propped up against one side of the room. Draco and Ron each grab one and take off into the swarm of keys.

"Should we join them?" Neville asks. He seems decidedly terrified at the prospect.

"Let's just leave it up to them," I say. "If they can't manage it, we don't really have much hope of it."

Draco and Ron get into a bit of a competition over it, but given that they're working toward the same goal at the moment, it's a much more friendly rivalry than usual and they aren't actively trying to hurt one another.

"Got it!" Draco says. "I think this one's it!"

He brings the key down. Large and silver, and it looks like one of the wings is bent.

"I didn't man-handle it," Draco says. "It was already like that."

Draco tries the still-struggling key on the keyhole. Sure enough, the door opens.

On the other side of the door is a huge chessboard with life-sized pieces.

Ron's eyes widen upon seeing this room. "I've got this one."

Ron takes the place of a knight, Hermione a rook, Draco and Neville the bishops, and I take the queen.

"Because you're such a queen," Draco says.

"What?" I say. "The queen is the most powerful piece."

Ron starts calling out instructions on which way to move each piece.

Several moves into the game, Draco decides to be argumentative. "That's a stupid move. We should obviously move the rook. That'll let us take their knight."

"No way," Ron says. "That would lead to Hermione being taken in two moves."

"Huh?" Draco says. "Oh man, you're right. That'd be bad. Wait, I so did not just say that."

"That's hardly a shameful thing to concede, Draco," I say.

"But... but... he's a Gryffindor," Draco says. "And a blood traitor."

"I'm your friend, Draco," Hermione says.

"Okay, so I'm a blood traitor, too. Never mind." Draco sighs in resignation, but casts a small smile over to Hermione, who beams.

"I never thought I'd see the day..." Ron says.

"Stranger things have happened?" I say.

We continue the game. Several more moves later, and I think we might be getting close to winning.

"Alright, Malfoy," Ron says. "I'm going to be taken on this next move. It'll be up to you to take advantage of the opening and checkmate the king."

"Got it, Weasley."

"What?" I say. "There's got to be a better way."

"Sometimes you have to make sacrifices," Ron says.

"I don't like to sacrifice other people," I say.

"Well, good thing you don't have to," Ron says. "I'm sacrificing myself. Good luck, Neville! And the rest of you, too."

Ron makes his move. The enemy queen strikes, and knocks Ron out. Neville is shaking, looking as though he might piss himself.

Hermione looks distinctly disturbed at the sight. "Is he alright?"

"I don't know, but there's no help for it now. Let's get through here," I say.

Draco looks at Ron's unconscious form with what could only be respect, and makes his move, and checkmates the white king. The king takes off his crown and drops it at his feet. The chessmen all bow and depart, leaving the way to the exit clear.

In the next room, there's a troll, even larger than the one we fought in the bathroom. Thankfully, or perhaps ominously, someone has already come through here and knocked the troll out.

"At least we don't have to fight it," Neville says.

"That's not a good sign," Draco says. "Someone's already in here."

In the next room, there are several bottles sitting in a row on a table, each of them different shapes and sizes. And the minute we step inside, purple flames spring up to block the way we just came in, and the far door is blocked by black flames.

"We must have to drink one of these potions in order to continue. Or get out," Draco says. "But which one?"

"Look, there's a parchment," Hermione says. "Hmm, it's a logic puzzle! I'll have this figured out in a moment."

After a few minutes of thought, Hermione identifies the smallest bottle as the one to let someone continue, and the round one at the far right end as the one to allow us to get out again.

"There's not much in there," Neville says. "Hardly a swallow."

"I don't think there's enough for more than one person to get through," Draco says.

"But somebody already came through," I say.

"The puzzles must reset themselves after someone's gone through," Hermione says.

"Yeah," Draco says. "I bet we could get through one at a time."

"Maybe even go back and revive Ron, too," Neville says.

"Alright," I say. "I'll go first, and the rest of you can come through one by one if you can."

The others nod to me and pass around the round bottle to take a swig each and go back out. I take the tiny bottle and swallow the potion inside. It's cold, like ice. I step through the black flames.

On the other side, I see about the last person I might have expected.

"Professor Quirrell?" I say, blinking.

"Ah. Harry Potter," Quirrell says. "I wondered if I might encounter you down here."

"Ah," I say. "So the whole complete incompetence thing was merely feigned to throw off suspicion."

He's standing next to a mirror, and I immediately recognize it as the Mirror of Erised. Why had Dumbledore left it out for me to stumble across at Christmas that one time, if it was supposed to be part of the protective measures here? Or had Dumbledore intended it from the start that I would find my way down here?

"Indeed," Quirrell says. "Who would suspect p-poor st-stuttering Quirrell?"

"It got really annoying to listen to that, you know," I say. Especially since I had to repeat the year so many times.

I just need to stall him long enough for my friends to get through. And I hope that our plan will actually work to get them through.

Ah, looks like it did. Not a moment later, Hermione steps into the room. "Professor Quirrell?"

"That's what I said."

"So you didn't come alone, Potter?" Quirrell says. "No matter. I'll just have to deal with both of you, then."

Ropes appear out of nowhere and wrap themselves tightly around the two of us, holding us firmly in place.

"Nosy, bothersome children," Quirrell says. "Especially the way you were running around on Halloween after I let in that troll as a diversion so that I could examine the defenses on the Stone. Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around like chickens with their heads cut off, Snape went straight to the third floor to head me off."

Yes, Quirrell, go ahead and keep monologuing.

There's Draco now, coming through the black flames. "Professor Quirrell?"

"Gah, another one?" Quirrell says. "How many of you brats did you bring with you?"

"It was just the three of us," Draco says.

Ropes bind Draco in place as well. That's pretty bothersome. I wonder how many people he can hold at once?

"No matter," Quirrell says. "I won't let you stop me from getting the Stone. The key is this mirror... yes... but how to retrieve it? I see the Stone in the mirror... I see myself presenting it to my master... but where is it?"

"Your master is the Dark Lord, I take it?" I say.

"Oh, yes. He is a great man, a great wizard. Very powerful. I met him when traveling the world, and he showed me how foolish my previous ideas about good and evil were. There is no good or evil. There is only power and those too weak to seek it."

"That's a great line," I say. "Do you mind if I quote you on that? I'll add that to my list of 'pithy villain sayings'."

"You won't have the opportunity, as I'm not letting you leave this room alive."

"Well, that's downright antisocial," I say. "What did I ever do to you? I don't even mock you in class, even when you so clearly deserve it! Aloud, anyway. To your face."

"Enough!" Quirrell says. "I will find the Philosopher's Stone, and with it I shall resurrect the Dark Lord!"

"You intend to create the Elixir of Life?" Of course Hermione would know all about it.

"Would that even work?" Draco wonders.

"Silence," Quirrell says. "I must unravel this mystery." He scowls. "But, I don't understand. Is the Stone within the mirror? Should I break it? How does this mirror work? What does it do? Help me, Master!"

"Use the boy..." says a voice.

I blink. Where did that voice come from? It seemed to originate from Quirrell.

"Yes! Potter, come here."

He releases me from the ropes, and I approach cautiously. Where is Neville? Did he go back to get Ron?

"Come," Quirrell says. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

I stare into the mirror. I see myself as before, adult, all-powerful, crackling with lightning underneath a stormy sky. But something is different. The mirror image of me takes an object out of his pocket and holds it up, grinning. A stone, red as blood. Then drops it back into his pocket with a wink, and I feel something drop into my own pocket.

"Well? What do you see, boy?"

"I see myself, an all-powerful god, master of the universe."

"What?" Quirrell says. "What does this mean? What does the mirror show?"

"It shows the future, don't you know? _A_ future, at least. But there's so many futures, so many possibilities, and it only shows one of them."

And then Ron Weasley comes through the black flames. Quirrell doesn't even notice, being so focused upon me and the mirror, and Ron at least wisely chooses to keep his mouth shut. He goes over to quietly try to free Draco and Hermione from their bindings.

"I don't understand!" Quirrell says. "How can I use this to get the Stone?"

"His mind is shielded..." whispers the voice. "He could be lying... Let me speak to him, face-to-face."

"Master?" Quirrell says.

"Do it, Quirrell."

Professor Quirrell reaches up and unwraps the turban from his head, and then turns around. On the back of his head, there's a face. An inhuman, snake-like face with gleaming red eyes. So it was _him_ who was killing the unicorns after all.

"Ah... Harry Potter," says the face.

"You are... the Dark Lord Voldemort, I take it?" I ask.

Reason tells me that I should be more afraid than I am. And even if _I_ can avoid death here, my friends don't have that luxury. I might live on in another timeline, but in this timeline, they'd be dead.

"Indeed I am. See what's become of me? A shadow of my former self. But always there are those who would allow me into their hearts and minds. And once I have the Philosopher's Stone, I shall be able to reclaim my former glory."

"Well, I guess Quirrell has a use after all," I say. "He's kind of a weak-minded idiot, after all."

"I'm still here, you know!" Quirrell protests.

Voldemort's face chuckles softly in amusement. "Yes... now, why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

Shit. How did he realize it was there? Did he get through my Occlumency shields, or just detect the Stone itself?

"Now why should I do that?" I say. "I wanted it for myself, you know."

"Ah, you _are_ an ambitious little Slytherin after all. Tell you what. Let's make a deal. You give me the Stone, and I will let you use it for whatever you please once I'm done with it."

I consider his offer. Not only that, but whether it's sincere or not. I don't really have any reason to trust him.

"I think you're lying," I say. "I think, once you get your hands on it, you'll just kill me and my friends anyway."

" _Flipendo!_ " casts Neville.

The spell strikes Quirrellmort, who stumbles and almost falls. I didn't even notice Neville come through the flames, and Quirrellmort was certainly too focused upon me to be paying attention in that direction.

" _Petrificus Totalus!_ " casts Hermione. Quirrellmort is held firmly in place, unable to move a muscle.

" _Diffindo!_ " casts Draco. A deep gash appears on Voldemort's face.

" _Incendio!_ " casts Ron. That sets Quirrellmort's robes on fire.

" _Fulgoris!_ " I cry. Electricity -- no, _lightning_ \-- shoots out of the tip of my wand and strikes Quirrellmort.

A few spells later, and there's nothing left of our former professor but scorched remains.

Neville blinks and stares at the unmoving body. "... God, I think we killed him."

"He was possessed by the Dark Lord," I say. " _I'm_ certainly not going to feel sorry about it."

Draco says, "Worst. Defense teacher. _Ever._ "

"Okay, so it wasn't Snape trying to steal the Stone after all," Ron says. "I was wrong. I'll admit it."

"I... think we should get out of here before somebody discovers that we murdered a teacher and stole the Philosopher's Stone," Hermione says.

"Maybe we should... dispose of the body somehow?" Draco suggests.

"I don't know any spells that might do that," I say. "Though I suppose we could feed him to the troll."

"I'm not touching that," Neville says.

"Never mind that," Hermione says. "Let's just leave it and get out of here!"

We don't bother arguing it anymore. We head back through the outside rooms, grab brooms from the room with the flying keys, and fly on out past the trapdoor. The three-headed dog is awake again and tries swiping at us, but Ron starts singing the school song and it quickly falls asleep.

We decide to part ways and get back to our common rooms, not wanting to be seen near there lest we draw suspicion. However, the five of us only make it out to the main corridor before Professor Dumbledore intercepts us.

"Good afternoon, Professor." I try to say this casually, but my group looks like a mess, mostly from the Devil's Snare.

"Ah, good afternoon, Harry," Dumbledore says. "And to your friends as well. It's good to see you well."

There's no use trying to hide it from him. I'm the only one of us who knows Occlumency, anyway. Damn, he might just take the Stone away from me again already. Oh, well.

"Yes, we've had quite the adventure," I say. "Why don't we tell you all about it in private?"

"Yes," Dumbledore agrees. "I must check on things within first. Go on and meet me in my office momentarily. The password is 'M&M's'."

The Headmaster turns and goes into the forbidden corridor, and the five of us shuffle in the general direction of his office.

"We are in _so_ much trouble," Neville says.

"Relax," I say. "We might have just saved the world from the Dark Lord! Let's just tell him the truth and deal with whatever consequences may come of it. Failing all else, I'll take full responsibility for dragging you all in there."

"What kind of a password is that, anyway?" Draco wonders.

"It's a kind of Muggle sweet," Hermione explains.

"Really?" Draco says. "Dumbledore's queer."

"While that may well be true for all I know, I don't think his sexual preferences have anything to do with candy," I say.

"Don't make me jinx you," Draco says.

I snicker softly.

We make it to the Headmaster's office and let ourselves in. I try to get the others to relax as we wait for Dumbledore to return. Thankfully, he doesn't leave us waiting for long.

"Sherbet lemon, anyone?" Dumbledore asks. "I must admit, it's nice to see students from different Houses working together despite traditional rivalries between those houses."

"They're alright, for Slytherins," Ron admits.

"Who but Gryffindors would I want along when doing something so reckless and dangerous?" Draco says.

"Why don't you tell me exactly what happened, in your own words?" Dumbledore says.

I take a deep breath, and give him a recap of our little adventure.

"... We murdered Professor Quirrell," says Neville sheepishly.

"Technically, that wasn't murder," I say. "I mean, he was possessed by the Dark Lord and _planning to kill us_."

"Your concern for the life of another human being does you credit," Dumbledore says. "But in this case, do not dwell on it too much. Professor Quirrell's life was forfeit the minute he allowed Voldemort inside of him. Regardless of your actions, he would not have survived long anyway. Now, Harry, where is the Philosopher's Stone now?"

"In my pocket," I say.

"Would you hand it over, please?" Dumbledore says.

"You're not going to let me keep it, are you. Didn't think so." I pull it out and place it on the desk in front of him reluctantly. Dumbledore chuckles softly.

"What do you want with it?" Dumbledore asks. "You must not have desired to use it to make Elixir of Life or transmute gold, or you would not have been able to get it out of the mirror."

"I just wanted to study it," I say. "It seems like a fascinating piece of magic and I wanted to learn more about it."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore says. "Your curiosity and thirst for knowledge does you credit, but it's too dangerous. For everyone's sake, the Philosopher's Stone must be destroyed, so that it does not fall into Voldemort's hands."

"Destroyed?" Hermione says. "That's... a shame."

"You think he'll try again?" I wonder.

"Oh, yes," Dumbledore says. "You've only slain his latest host, but Voldemort has not been destroyed. He will continue to search for a way to regain his power at any cost."

"It's for the best, if it needs to be destroyed," Neville says.

"I'll make it up to you, Harry," Dumbledore says. "You've done well today, all five of you. For your actions and skill in overcoming the challenges and working together, I grant you fifty points each to your respective Houses."

" _Fifty points?_ " Hermione says.

" _Each?_ " Neville adds.

Slytherin was likely to win the House Cup anyway, given the current point totals, but I suppose an extra pat on the head isn't a horrible thing. Neville could certainly use the confidence. I wonder how long he was standing there before he worked up the nerve to _jinx the bloody Dark Lord_.

"Now, why don't you run along back to your common rooms?" Dumbledore says. "You have exams soom, and I need to make some arrangements myself."

The five of us head out of the Headmaster's office. Before we part ways, I take a look at us.

"We make a good team, don't we?" I say.

"Yeah, I think we do," Neville says.

"You think I'm going to admit that?" Draco says.

"Oh, be nice, Draco," Hermione says. "Why don't we all be friends?"

"Friends?" Ron says. "With Slytherins?"

"Friends?" Draco says. "With Gryffindors?"

"Sure, why not?" I say.

"Actually, I think my family would object to that less than my being friends with a Mudblood..." Draco says.

"Does it always have to be about what your family thinks?" Ron asks.

"Aren't _you_ concerned about what your family thinks of you?" Draco says.

"Well, of course," Ron says. "I have to live with them, after all. But mine aren't Death Eaters."

"I should jinx you for that," Draco says.

"Friendship obviously means different things for different people..." Neville comments.

"No kidding," Hermione agrees.

I think this is the start of a very strange friendship.


End file.
